


Between Lines

by DreamChaos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4483166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamChaos/pseuds/DreamChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It began with a chance meeting. And from there, everything fell to pieces. A new game began and they called it the Hunt. The goal? Jinx as many Slytherins after lights out as possible - prefects and Head Boy are worth more. But, as they say, boys will tease the girls they fancy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Pansy

Someone was knocking on her door again, an urgent rapping that grated her nerves.

"Pansy, _hurry it up_ , she'll be here any minute!"

It was her mother's nasally voice, the sound making her cringe so early in the morning. There was another exclamation from outside the bathroom door and Pansy rolled her eyes, trying to finish her makeup. "Pansy, you've not even put on your dress yet!"

"Maybe I would go a bit faster if you stopped knocking every three _fucking_ minutes," Pansy snapped, coating her lashes with a third swipe of mascara.

"Watch your mouth!" her mother said through the door. "You _know_ who is coming over, you can't talk like that in front of her."

"I _know_ , Mum," she said, wrenching open the door to her bathroom to see her mother standing in pristine condition. Clothes pressed, dark hair curled, not a smudge of makeup out of place. How she made it seem so effortless, Pansy would never know. "I am the one who invited her," she continued. "Is Peter even awake yet? Go bother him."

With an irritated scowl, Mrs. Parkinson left her daughter to go check in on her son. Pansy was free for another five minutes and she took the opportunity to shut and lock her bedroom door.

Right. Time for the dress. Pansy crossed over to her bed and pulled down one of two dresses, this one a pastel sundress. Flinging her pajamas to the floor, she prodded herself to stay awake while she dressed. Things had been hectic that morning, with the paper coming and all. The comfy bed was calling her name, but she turned her back to it and went for the door, pausing at her side table to give a gentle stroke to Lizzie, an affectionate look on her face.

Lizzie was Pansy's Venomous Tentacula plant that she'd kept since second year because her mother wouldn't allow a cat in the house. Apparently highly dangerous plant life is more appropriate for a child than a kitten. But, then, Herbology was the only thing Pansy excelled at - not that she would dare mention it out loud. In all other classes she struggled, but for some reason had taken to Herbology at a young age, which she kept secret in fear of being made fun of like Longbottom. She rolled her eyes and scoffed with all the other students when assignments were given, but had never once received less than an Outstanding for any project. In fact, Pansy excelled so well at Herbology that she'd been allowed to test-out of O.W.L.'s at the end of last year and, as a fifth year, would be taking N.E.W.T. level Herbology. Pansy hadn't wanted to do it because then everyone would _know_ she was good at Herbology if she was in class with seventh years, but her mother had forced her to. Only she and Longbottom took the test for Herbology out of their entire class, though she wasn't sure how he did as they received their scores over summer. Granger was the only other student tested, but she was pursuing other courses.

With a sigh, she held one of Lizzie's leaves between her fingers and gave a soft, reassuring rub. The plant hadn't liked her at first, wrapping her vines around Pansy's wrists and ankles, but Lizzie had warmed to her and grew to love Pansy in return. Lizzie gave a soft purr and wrapped a gentle vine around Pansy's finger. "I'll be back a little later," she whispered to the plant, untwining herself from Lizzie's grasp and making her way down the stairs after spritzing herself with perfume.

There was a spread laid out on the table - sweet cakes, french toast, apples, food galore. It was an absolutely ridiculous measure that her mother thought necessary, but Pansy knew the four of them would never eat all that and their guests would probably just nibble.

When Peter, still drowsy, reached for a bit of toast, their mother smacked his hand away. "It's not for eating," she chided. "It's for looks." Like most of their possessions. Meant to be seen, not enjoyed.

"I'm hungry," he grumbled, running a hand through his gelled hair and mucking it up.

"Nice one, you twat," Pansy teased, taking a seat across from him while their mother fretted, trying to flatten his hair that was now standing up.

"I hate life," he grunted, swatting his mother's hand away and fixing it himself.

"Why?" Pansy said, flashing her brother a devilish smirk. "Because you're in your early twenties and still live at home with Mummy and Daddy?"

"Fuck off, Pans," he muttered, putting his hands down, though one lone hair still stood.

"What did I ever do to deserve you children," their mother said in a worried tone, pouring herself a cup of tea. Both siblings didn't miss the fact that she tipped something else into the cup for her nerves. They shared a look - it was a bit early for the liquor, but it didn't surprise either of them.

"Right, I'm off to work," their father said, entering the kitchen while straightening his tie. Pansy laid her forehead on the table, stomach growling as she caught a whiff of the french toast. Not today. She didn't want to be bloated for the party later.

"You can't!" her mother squawked. "Today is the day The Daily Prophet comes. She'll be here any minute!"

"Merlin's fucking beard," Mr. Parkinson growled, throwing his hands in the air. "I've got a meeting in a half hour!"

 _"Postpone it,"_ the woman said, her dark curls trembling as much as her voice. Another few drinks from her cup would even her out, Pansy knew that much. The two argued for a few minutes, their children sitting quiet, before Mr. Parkinson left the room in a huff to go Floo the Ministry and tell them he'd be late.

"Here she comes," said Peter, glancing out the kitchen window. Pansy looked to see the familiar blonde woman bustling up the long walkway. Their mother drained her cup.

"Patrick, she's here," Mrs. Parkinson yelled. A few seconds later, he bustled in, straightening his tie again. His wife nearly shrieked, frantic hands rushing to dust away the ash and soot on the shoulder of his robes. Just in time, too - there was a sharp knock on the door. In an instant, the four of them shot up, pushing their shoulders back to correct their posture and tilting their chins up in some faux sense of pride. When their mother answered the door and the woman walked in, photographer in tow, the Parkinson's smiles gleamed brighter than the rising sun.

"I'm glad you invited me," Rita Skeeter said to Pansy, then to no one in particular, "My, what a lovely home you have!"

Their house wasn't usually this clean. You could practically sunbathe off the sparkles reflecting from the white tile floor.

"Thank you," their mother said, smile as bright as ever. "We're glad you agreed to come, so we can put this silly mess to rest."

Pansy watched Skeeter's eyes, how they glimmered with disbelief, thinly veiled behind some false kindness. The woman was a rat, sniffing out the biggest chunk of cheese. No one mentioned that Skeeter had been the one to cover Mr. Parkinson's high-profile affair that almost ruined the family name.

"Right," said the blonde woman, pushing her glasses up farther on her nose. "Let's get started, shall we?"

The Parkinson's waited for their guests to sit before returning to their seats. "Please-," their mother said, "- have a bite to eat." Skeeter didn't act like she'd heard, but the slouching photographer grabbed a sweet cake in his grubby hand. Obviously, he didn't understand how these things worked - the food was just a display of hospitality, you weren't supposed to _stuff it in your mouth_ , as he was doing. Only nibble, if that. The thought of nibbling made Pansy's stomach growl.

The four family members sat with their smiles flashed while Skeeter pulled out several sheets of parchment and a Quick-Quotes Quill, the photographer reaching for another sweet cake.

"Testing," Rita said, the balanced quill scribbling a word onto the parchment. It seemed to be working and the woman scooted her chair to the table with such a force that her over-sprayed curls gave a bounce.

"This is Rita Skeeter reporting for The Daily Prophet. Today we're setting the story straight on Ministry official Patrick Parkinson and his publicized affair with Rymea Fudge, young daughter of Minister Cornelius Fudge and, until recently, intern in the Department of Magical Education where Parkinson acts as Department Head." The woman paused, sucking in a long breath from the lengthy sentence she'd just spoken. Each of the Parkinson's continued to smile through this humiliating display. "Today I'm joined by Patrick Parkinson, his wife Pandora, his devilishly handsome son Peter, and their charming daughter Pansy, who I had the pleasure of growing close with last year at Hogwarts, when I _exclusively_ covered the Triwizard Tournament."

_Grew close with._

Pansy had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Skeeter had paid her and a few others off to be "sources" and make up whatever they wanted about the Triwizard champions and their love lives. True, it had been entertaining to have that much power, especially when Potter was such an annoying git, but she hardly considered herself _close_ to Skeeter.

Merlin, the interview dragged on and on, each passing minute making Pansy's stomach growl a little louder. _'Not today,'_ she urged her body, thinking of the tight dress she'd have to squeeze in for the party and how this would be the first time Graham saw her all summer. That thought made her stomach squirm, though not in the way a girl's should when she thought of her boyfriend. It was more in dread than excitement.

"And what about you, Pansy?" Rita finally asked, turning her attention to the youngest of the Parkinson family. "What do you think of all this? Do you think your father betrayed your family? Or was it all a misunderstanding?"

Pansy's face was beginning to ache from smiling, though she continued to do so through the awkward questions. Skeeter had been frank ever since the first time Pansy met her and, though she bordered on rude, part of the girl admired the woman's gumption.

"The entire thing has been a ridiculous misunderstanding," she said, unafraid to make eye contact with the journalist. "My father would never hurt us," she continued. "And just look at my Mum, why would he ever need to find another woman?"

Both Rita and her mother cooed while all three men looked away in discomfort.

"And what are your plans now, Pansy? We haven't spoken since last school year." Just as Pansy was opening her mouth to speak, Mrs. Parkinson stole the spotlight.

"Our daughter was chosen to be Slytherin prefect this year, along with Draco, the son of our family friends, the Malfoy's. Pansy's boyfriend, Graham Montague, is going to be Head Boy this year."

_'Yes, Mother, why don't you name drop a little more, I don't think the gnomes outside heard you.'_

Rita's eyes gleamed, buying right into it. Malfoy and Montague were both prominent names, alongside Parkinson, within the Ministry. Pansy could see the wheels turning in Skeeter's head, wondering how she could work this into her story. "This must be very exciting for you all. I'm sure the three of you will be a very successful team!" she said. Pansy only smiled, offering nothing in reply. Prefects and Head Boy had nothing to do with being successful - it was their names that would take them far in life.

"We're having a party tonight to celebrate," said Mrs. Parkinson, eyes alight.

"Oh, I'd love to get a picture of the three of them for the paper," Rita said, taking the bait like some starving fish. Pansy knew it wasn't about her at all - Rita wanted to name drop and her mother wanted published proof that she threw the best parties.

"Oh, well of course you're invited!" her mother gushed, swatting a hand toward Skeeter as if she were being silly. "It's not every day we get to invite a _celebrity_ over!"

That was about as much as the other three Parkinson's could handle. Pansy hid her face in a glass of orange juice, Peter gave a longing look to the doorway, and Patrick glanced down to his watch. The two older women chatted, exchanging details, and then it was time for the photos.

"Alright, you here," Skeeter said, leading Mrs. Parkinson to stand behind her husband, who was seated at the head of the table. "Bright smiles, bright smiles," Rita continued and the camera flashed while husband and wife beamed. "And you, Peter, come sit next to your sister. Todd, take it from across the table, I want the food in it."

Pansy grimaced when Peter sat next to her, the smell of cigarette smoke attacking her senses. The smile lit up her face just in time for the flash and, before she knew it, they were all shaking hands, Rita and the photographer out the door in the blink of an eye. Their father was gone not a moment later, muttering about being late for his meeting. Mrs. Parkinson put a hand to her forehead, declaring she needed to go lay down and Pansy turned just in time to see Peter's back retreating up the stairs to his bedroom. Things were back to normal.

With a lonely sigh, she followed her brother up the stairs, turning to her room instead. Might as well get her run in before the day turned hot.

Pansy slipped out of her dress, which joined her crumpled pajamas on the floor. Too tired to deal with looking for clothing, she flicked her wand and her athletic clothes shot toward her from the dresser. Once she was changed, she slicked back her growing hair into a ponytail with a feeling of triumph. This summer, Pansy had dedicated herself to becoming her ideal of feminine beauty. Every day she ran, sometimes twice, to try and shed the childish weight that clung to her. Skipping meals had grown to be quite a frequent occurrence, which her family either didn't notice or didn't mention. And each night was filled with the newest magical skin remedies while she obsessively rubbed Darlena Cotsmith's Hair Stimulant Ointment into her scalp. The girlish bob she'd worn last year was gone now, a satisfied smirk crossing her face when she felt the tips of her hair trail past her shoulders.

Pansy's image had consumed her. But, maybe it would pay off that night when Graham saw her. Maybe now she wouldn't have to be subjected to his long stares at other girls or the way he told her to readjust her clothes, so they looked more flattering.

Before she left her room, an owl was tapping at her window. Another letter. Pansy let the filthy animal in, clutching at the parchment and shooing it back out before it shit on something. She tossed the envelope into the stack with the others, all unopened, all in Graham's handwriting. She'd deal with them _later_.

At least, that's what she'd said all summer. But, later never came. Not later when she entered, sweaty from her long run. Not later after she showered or slipped into her fourth outfit of the day. Each day, she told herself she would go through the letters later, but now summer was gone and there was no more later left.

There was a rap on Pansy's door in the early evening, a common occurrence throughout the day.

"What?" she said, annoyance laced in her tone. She'd been lying in bed just staring at the dress for the party, worrying it would hug all the wrong places. When she'd first tried it on a month ago it was too tight, but her mother insisted it would be fine. If her mother made her get it, then Pansy didn't want her fit of self-criticism interrupted.

"They've got everything set up," her mother called through the door. "Guests should be arriving soon. I want you a few minutes late to make an entrance." The words sounded loose and Pansy could tell her mother had drank several more cups of her special tea since that morning. A grunt was all Mrs. Parkinson got in reply before she clacked off in her tall heels to bother Peter.

The party had been quite a hit. By the time she walked down the stairs in her purple dress, which she was relieved was actually loose in places, laughter had already begun drifting through the house. Graham was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He smiled, though it never reached his eyes and Pansy gave him a similar smile in return. Dutiful as ever, he bent and pressed his lips to her cheek while those around them cooed. Then, without a word, they linked arms and made their party rounds with a tense feeling between them. Each greeting was met with a smile as fake as their own. Once that bullshittery was finished, they stumbled upon Draco.

"Pans! You look fantastic!" he told her, leaning in for a hug, which she dodged.

"You'll mess up my hair," she pouted, though she wanted nothing more than a hug from her best friend. It was just that Graham didn't like her being friends with Draco. Or any boy, for that matter. Draco rolled his eyes and forced her into a long hug anyway. Graham knew better than to say anything to a Malfoy, but Pansy didn't miss the dark look that crossed his eyes.

"Congratulations on making prefect," her boyfriend said to Draco, extending his hand. Draco took it, knowing nothing was amiss.

"And you for making Head Boy," her friend replied, a genuine grin on his face.

Pansy let out a long breath when the handshake went as a normal handshake should go and Graham released Draco's hand. She half-expected him to pull Draco close and give him an earful for hugging her.

No, not her Graham. He was as skilled at the bullshit game as she was. Instead of some threat, he gave Draco a pat on the shoulder and whisked his girlfriend away.

"You do look amazing," he said, though it was less genuine and more mandatory. If Draco told her she looked nice, then it was his duty as her boyfriend to do the same.

"Thanks," she muttered, not looking at him.

That was how much of the party went, them muttering a few words here and there with little in between. Pansy didn't understand the point of even dating when they could hardly stand each other, but when she'd tried to break it off at the end of last school year, Graham had gone berserk. Pansy had tried to walk away, but he jerked her back by her wrist so hard that he sprained it. Neither of them acted like it ever happened.

By the time the camera flashes were starting to fill the room, he had her alone in a corner, chiding her for not answering his letters all summer.

"I've been busy," she said, brushing him off. Well, it wasn't a lie. She'd been busy making herself look better for him. Ungrateful bastard. A flash of anger crossed his eyes, the same she'd seen when she tried to break it off, and fear rooted in her stomach. "Don't make a scene," she scolded, trying to act tougher than she felt. Before Graham could answer, Rita bustled over and interrupted, dragging Draco behind her.

"Picture time!" she said, Todd catching up with a huff of breath. "Here you go, dearie," she continued, pushing Draco on the other side of Pansy. "Smile!" she said, as Todd lifted his camera. Graham was already smiling, though, as if nothing were wrong, but his hand snaked under her arm. Pansy let out a small yelp, his fingers pinching into the sensitive skin underneath. The camera flashed right as she jerked in pain, though she was able to keep a forced smile on her face. It would probably look more like a grimace. _Great._

"Wonderful party, Pansy," Rita gushed and Pansy nodded her head, giving a rushed thank you before pushing past her into the crowd. It took her a few minutes to weave her way through the people and one time she caught a glimpse of Graham looking for her with an even angrier look, but she managed to make it upstairs without anyone stopping her. Dim light flooded beneath Peter's door, the smell of cigarettes wafting out into the hall. Knowing her brother had already given up on the party made her not feel so bad for ditching. It quelled the guilty feeling in her chest as she shut and locked her door, rubbing the sore spot under her arm.

Not even wanting to see the pile of Graham's letters, Pansy extinguished the light in her room with the wave of her wand and felt her way through the bed, crawling in dress and all.

That's how she woke the next morning, her dress wrinkled around her. It took a while to shake the grog of sleep from her head, but as she did, she ran over a mental list of all she had to get done that day, rearranging them into logical order.

Right. First, read their article in The Daily Prophet and make sure Skeeter hadn't fucked it up. Then school shopping, then her run.

It took another half hour or so before she actually convinced herself to leave the comfort of her bed. Once she was dressed and ready for the day, she made her way to the kitchen, where the newspaper was always left by her father before he went to work.

The first thing she saw was the picture of her parents smiling up at her from the front page. Opening the paper, she found the picture of her with Peter, grinning over that ridiculous breakfast spread. The rest were pictures from the party, except the photo at the very bottom. It was her with Draco and Graham. Each time the photo moved, Pansy grimaced in sync with her picture. The average reader may just think Graham's hand was under her arm, like any normal boy may do to his girlfriend. At least the paper didn't make noises and her yelp went unheard. Somehow, she managed to keep smiling in the photograph. To her eyes, it looked quite forced, but she knew no one else would pay that much attention. Under the photo it read _"Powerhouse Trio."_

Pansy's eyes scanned the article, glad to see her family finally cast in a positive light for the first time that summer. There was more focus on their wholesome family than the public affair that nearly tore them apart and lost her dad his job. For every sickle Skeeter had paid Pansy to make up stuff about Potter, she paid back tenfold for this article. The journalist didn't disappoint.

Content, with the exception of her picture, Pansy went to find her mother for school shopping. And she did find her - passed out on the couch, still in her dress and heels from the night before. On the ground next to her was a spilled glass, a dark color staining the carpet. Looked like wine.

"Mum, wake up, we've got to go school shopping," she said, giving her mother a gentle shake. The woman gave a slight snore. _"Mum,"_ she said louder. Mrs. Parkinson stirred, blinking her eyes a few times before rolling away with a grunt. "Mum, we've got to go school shopping."

Her mother drew an annoyed breath and her daughter leaned over to see her eyes were closed again. "Pansy, sweetheart, aren't you old enough to go alone? Mummy doesn't feel well this morning. The vault key is on my dresser."

Pansy just stared at her mother, who began snoring again a few seconds later.

 _"Unbelievable,"_ she muttered under her breath, making her way back to her parent's room. She snatched up the key and turned to the marble fireplace that dominated the room, grabbing a handful of powder and tossing it into the fire.

"Diagon Alley," she said, clear as a bell, an edge of anger in her voice. Then she stepped into the green flames and was spun away.


	2. Chapter 2

Fred

Fred ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. Right, books were all that was left. This year George won their annual wizard's chess match and got four of the new school books while he only got three. Sometimes he felt bad for being a twin and adding even more financial burden on his family. Each year he and George had to buy a set of new books and split the new with the hand-me-downs for school.

Both Ron and Ginny had growth spurts outside of his mum's seamstress skills, so George had taken their two younger siblings over for new robes. Hermione was collecting all of the potion ingredients for herself, Harry, and him and his siblings. That left Fred to get the new books for him and George, as well as Harry's. Hermione had bought hers at the beginning of the summer after getting a list last year from McGonagall, who was more than happy to oblige a student planning to study over summer holiday. What an utter waste of free time.

Fred pulled out Harry's list first. The move had gone well, but Harry was kept behind at Grimmauld Place to dispel Fred's mum's worry for his safety and now it was up to the rest of them to get his school supplies for him. Normally they would have all come together with his parents, but there was so much that needed done for the Order that the Weasley children had to do their part, too.

Flourish and Blott's was the next store down and the little bell above the door tinkled when he entered. The entire store was empty, probably because it was the day before school began and everyone else had the sense to get their things early. The only other person there was an older woman manning the register, so hunched over and engrossed in her book that she hadn't noticed him enter. Fred smiled, understanding the woman's devout attention. Not that he particularly liked to read for fun, but when he and Georgie worked on new projects, they became totally engrossed. Sometimes the outside world melted away until their mum beat on their door to call them for dinner.

The thought of his mum made his smile widen as he looked for the first book on Harry's supply list. Fred knew he was being biased, but he honestly thought he had the best mum in the entire world. With a war brewing, he'd come to realize not so many people would take someone under their wing as she had Harry – Chosen One or not.

By the time the bell tinkled a second time, Fred was nearly done collecting Harry's books. For the sake of doing it, he opened one to hear the spine crack and pop, still stiff and new. Having new things was not a luxury he experienced often and he was sure Harry wouldn't care, or even notice for that matter.

Fred crossed back through the store and sat the books down next to the register with a thud. The woman looked up from her book, wide-eyed at the sudden intrusion. "So sorry," she said, words spilling together as she fumbled, grabbing a quill and going to add the prices.

"No, it's alright," Fred said. "I'm not done yet, I was just wondering if I could leave these here for now."

"Sure, sure," she said, then was immediately buried back in her book. Fred smiled warmly, then pulled his own list out from his pocket and began scanning the shelves for what he and George needed.

Down one row, near the Potions section, a girl was fumbling with her Hogwarts letter, trying to pull out the thick pieces of parchment without ripping the envelope. Sentimental girls, always trying to preserve things for memories. Fred looked down at his letter, crumpled and creased from being folded time and time again.

The girl sucked in a breath and there was a small clatter on the floor. Something tiny and metallic had fallen from the letter and he saw with much dismay that it was a green prefect badge. Gross, a baby Slytherin. He passed on to the next row before she'd noticed him and he began searching for his Herbology book. It was the most dreadful subject, but if he and George wanted to get serious about their shop, they would need a solid understanding of Herbology for developing new products.

Merlin's pants, why did they make the print on the spines so small? It wouldn't be so bad if the books weren't so high up. After a few minutes of craning his neck to try and read the Herbology titles, which were inconveniently located on the fourth shelf, his back was beginning to ache.

The bookshelf let out a great creak and he turned the way he'd come to see the girl from before practically scaling the bloody wall. A few books and her precious letter were placed with care on the floor while she balanced on the ledge of the second shelf, reaching for the fourth. He noticed then how short she was, balancing on tip-toes to try and reach the book she needed. One leg kicked back behind her, toes pointed, as if that would give her additional height.

"Here," he said, stepping next to her and reaching for the book. Even though she was standing on the shelf, he had a few inches on her. Chivalry, it seemed, won out over house prejudice.

The girl turned her head and looked him over, then turned away, nose turned up in the air. "I don't need _your_ help," she said, managing to snag the book with her fingernails and drag it out far enough to grab. Once she had a good hold on it, she hopped down off the shelf and gave him a triumphant smirk before bending to collect her things.

Fred rolled his eyes so hard that they nearly fell right out of his head. Merlin help him, some days he just really wanted to strangle the little Slytherin brats.

"You're in my _way,_ " she said, looking up at him with wide eyes that screamed _move._ Genuinely stunned at her rudeness, he stepped aside without a word. Which never happened. Fred always had a comeback, but he was so taken aback that even a Slytherin could be so rude that no words could form. What was her problem, anyway? He was only trying to help.

What a _nasty_ person.

Finally, he shook himself from the shock of it and went back to the list in his hands. Right, Herbology. An irritated scowl crossed his mouth. Baby snake was near where he'd left off his search, standing on her tip-toes to try and read the spines on the fourth shelf. Fred wasn't about to let some _kid_ make him keep a distance. If anything, _she_ should be wary of _him._ He and Georgie had developed a new game called the Hunt and, as she seemed to be a new Slytherin prefect, they'd be getting better acquainted this next year. They'd already rallied the Gryffindor troops and had an eager group excited to play.

' _Know your target,'_ he thought with a smirk, walking toward the Herbology section and puncturing any personal bubble the girl had by standing uncomfortably close.

When she turned toward him with a confused and disgusted look, he caught the scent of overpowering perfume. Merlin, it was too much. If he stayed there too long, he'd pass out from the fumes.

"Do you _mind?_ " she spat, rolling her eyes and going back to the books.

"Nope," Fred said with a cheeky grin, not moving. The girl huffed and went to move farther down the aisle, but he plucked the letter out of her hands and began reading it, trying to find her name. Then he'd know who one of the new Slytherin prefects was and she'd be easier to target.

"Real cute," she said, trying to snatch it back. Fred anticipated the move and spun to hold the letter away, eyes scanning the page.

_Pansy Parkinson._

He'd heard the name, but never cared to put a face with it. Now he had. It was a face that wore too much make-up.

"Parkinson," he said, flipping to the next page to read her supply list. "Montague's girlfriend. Almost feel sorry for you."

Montague was in his year and was one of the most unpleasant gits that Fred ever had the displeasure of knowing. The only reason he even knew she was involved with Montague was because last year during Potions, the sixth year Slytherin boys were loudly taking bets on how long it took Parkinson to put out. Montague claimed there was no point in taking bets as he'd already gotten under her skirt, which only lowered Fred's opinion of him further.

"Sod off," she said under her breath, snatching the letter back and throwing him a heated look.

"They sent you the wrong list," he said matter-of-factly when she stepped away from him. "They've got you in seventh year Herbology."

Parkinson didn't bother turning to look back at him, instead glancing up to the Herbology books again. "It's not wrong," she said, annoyance laced in her tone. "I'm taking seventh year Herbology. Now if you'd kindly remove yourself from my general area, I can go back to buying my things."

The longer he was around her, the more he thought she and Montague deserved each other.

The competitive streak in Fred wouldn't allow things to settle there. As petty as it was, he was going to find their Herbology book first, if only because she annoyed him to no end. He towered over her and scanned the shelf with new fervor, barely concealing a smirk when his eyes landed on the title. He grabbed the first for him and George, then slid a second out into his free hand. Fred looked down at her, holding the book high above his head, and then opened his hand and let the book fall and crash at her feet.

"See you in class, snake brat," he said in a smug tone, eyes and grin both wicked and intimidating. Then he was gone, over to the next aisle to find the rest of their books. After years of run-ins with Slytherins, Fred came to realize that their power was in numbers. When alone, they were more likely to tuck their tail and run. It was satisfying how quickly she collected the rest of her books and got out of there. Fred had to give her points for spunk, though, after she passed him in the next aisle and shouldered him hard to grab her last book before leaving the shop.

Fred took his time after she left. Once he'd gathered everything, he paid the shopkeeper after throwing in The Daily Prophet. Since they'd moved to Grimmauld Place, they couldn't risk having the paper delivered, but they tried to pick it up whenever they were out.

Hermione and his siblings were supposed to meet him outside of Gringotts when they were done. There was a row of rickety benches in front that were all empty except for an older man in striped robes. The others must've still been shopping. Fred nodded to the man, who nodded back, and took an empty bench. Merlin, books were heavy. Sitting down took the strain off his back and he huffed out a breath, happy to have the weight off him. After he filled the seat next to him with their school books, he pulled out The Daily Prophet and came face-to-face with a picture of the same girl from the shop earlier.

_PARKINSON CLEARS UP ALLEGED FUDGE AFFAIR_

Fred read the article, then studied each of the pictures. He remembered Peter, apparently her brother, from his younger Hogwarts years. Always in detention, like he and George, though he was both older and Slytherin, so they never spoke.

If one good thing ever came from Rita Skeeter, it was that the article mentioned both Parkinson and the little Malfoy twat were the new Slytherin prefects. Montague, unfortunately, had been named Head Boy, but he wouldn't let that put a damper on their plans. He'd talk it over with George after dinner and they'd decide point totals on the prefects for the Hunt, then send out owls that evening to their players.

Fred's eyes found the bottom picture again, the one of Parkinson with Malfoy and Montague. Something just rubbed him the wrong way about it. Maybe he was biased because he loathed Montague, but there was something about the picture that he just didn't like. Parkinson seemed to jump every time the photo restarted itself and after it played a few times, Fred noticed a slight movement under her arm. Montague's hand.

It was impossible to tell in the photo, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Montague was hurting her. Each time Montague's hand moved was when Parkinson jerked and grimaced. Fred watched it probably ten more times until he was as sure as he could be.

Montague was hurting her in that picture. And that twat smiled at the camera through the whole thing. What surprised Fred the most was how angry it made him feel, despite the girl's own nasty personality toward him. Montague was nearly as tall as Fred was and in the picture she just looked so tiny standing next to him. It made him think of some mean kid that liked to hurt harmless bugs.

Though, if Parkinson were a bug, he was sure she'd have a wicked sting.


	3. Chapter 3

Pansy

Platform 9 3/4 always had a way of making her feel alone. Ever since her first visit, when Peter said goodbye as he rolled away with a wave. And later, when it was her turn for Hogwarts, her parents chided her for sobbing and pushed her onto the train with embarrassed looks.

It was scary to leave your home and jump into the unknown. It was lonely. But this year was even worse. Pansy's father had to work and neither her mother nor her brother would wake up.

Pansy's eyes darted from family to family now, some hugging, some crying, all loving with each other. The sight made her feel isolated and jealous. Still, her proud chin never fell. The shining silver and green prefect badge was pinned to her chest for all to see. Somewhere near the front of the train, she and the other prefects would be meeting with Graham and whoever had been chosen for Head Girl. Though the thought of seeing her boyfriend was even worse than standing among the gushing families, she passed her trunk along to be loaded and began winding her way through the thick crowd to try and board the train.

"Watch it," she muttered, running straight into a tall boy and nearly toppling over. First she saw the pin on his chest, just like hers except scarlet instead of green. Then she looked up and saw it was Ron Weasley. Pansy had to bite back an insult, realizing his parents were there. And she was alone - she was far more outspoken in the company of her fellow Slytherins.

"Sorry," he muttered, stepping aside to let her pass.

"Oh, look, another prefect! Ronald, is this a friend from school?"

Oh, _this_ was awkward. Pansy's face was caught somewhere between a smile and a grimace when the Weasley's drab mother grabbed her hand and gave it a tight squeeze.

"Er," Ron said, eyes darting to Granger for help. Mr. Weasley offered Pansy a warm smile, oblivious to the tension.

"This is Pansy Parkinson," Granger offered, her uncomfortable tone making Pansy's smile grow more stiff, though she wanted nothing more than to scoff and be rid of the lot of them. Sure, at school she could be a right terror, but Pansy's parents taught her how to act in front of adults, no matter their class. A political family _always_ had to maintain that rosy hue in public and so her smile stayed glued into place. "She's a Slytherin in our year."

Recognition crossed the older woman's eyes. Even Mr. Weasley's smile faltered. _Of course_ they knew. Everyone knew about her father's affair - it had been the front page of the Prophet for nearly a month. Even the Weasley's, who probably couldn't afford the paper, would have heard the talk. And didn't Mr. Weasley work for the Ministry?

_How humiliating._

"Well, I'm Molly, dear," the woman told her, warmth in her eyes and tone. Pansy did the most un-Parkinson thing and broke her reserve, ducking her head at this embarrassment. A fucking Weasley, of all people, was feeling sorry for her. _A Weasley._

"Pleasure to meet you," she muttered, recoiling her hand before anyone saw. Knowing her mother would be prodding her to smile, she looked back up to Mrs. Weasley and forced the edges of her mouth up, though her eyes were void of any emotion. "I've…got to go meet my boyfriend, if you'll excuse me," she continued, the woman giving her a reassuring rub on the shoulder and a kind nod.

"Of course, off you go," she answered with a smile, the warmth in her eyes overbearing. Pansy didn't dawdle a moment longer. She brushed past Potter and the twins, not daring look at them, especially the latter two after the run-in at Flourish and Blott's the day before. Pansy wasn't sure which one was which, but she wasn't taking chances. Last night when she'd been in bed, she scolded herself for acting out the way she did. Being a Slytherin _and_ a prefect, she knew she would probably be dealing with them a lot this year. And they were like Peeves, but _worse._ Bullies, the both of them. _"See you in class, snake brat,"_ one of them had said. Every time she recalled him saying it, the words seemed a bit more threatening. All Pansy could hope was that it wasn't an indication of the type of year she'd be having now that she was prefect. But, she knew she wanted to stay clear of them or at least not on their bad side.

Free of the Weasley's, she put one foot up on the train when she heard their mother utter, "Poor thing."

Despite her better judgement, her head whipped toward them, embarrassment burning across her cheeks. Mrs. Weasley had her back to Pansy, but a few of the others didn't, their eyes finding hers. She turned her head and stepped into the train with such a rush that she wasn't sure who had seen her look back. Granger for sure, but the others she didn't catch.

The prefect compartment was empty when she got there. It was larger than the rest, built to hold 30 people comfortably. Pansy sat in the far corner with her humiliation, hoping the train ride and feast would pass quickly so she could be done with Graham for the night. And anyone else, for that matter.

People began to file in - sixth and seventh year students that she knew by face and not name. Hestia Carrow, a Slytherin girl a year older, entered and sat in the corner opposite her, as neither knew each other very well. When Weasley and Granger entered, Pansy looked back out the window, seeing that they were pulling away from the station. But then she felt someone sit next to her.

"Your hair has grown quite a bit, it looks nice."

No matter the awful things Pansy may have done in her life, she didn't think she deserved Granger _actually_ trying to start a conversation with her.

"Don't give me a fucking pity party," she muttered, not wanting the others to overhear or even think she was associated with the girl. She never once looked away from the moving scenery outside the window.

"It's not!" Granger protested. "You've lost… _quite_ a bit of weight, too."

It was the tone she said it in - conversational, yet laced with a hint of concern and judgement. Pansy clamped her teeth together and said nothing.

"I just think we got off on the wrong foot," Granger said in that matter-of-fact tone that drove Pansy mad. "We're prefects together now, we should at least be civil."

"I'm not going to be your friend," Pansy muttered. "And if you want me to be fucking civil with you, I suggest you stop acting sorry for me and go sit somewhere else."

It seemed to do the trick. Thankfully, too. If Granger hadn't of moved after that, Pansy may have made a scene on her first day as prefect.

Like that mudblood made a point to mention her weight. Holier-than-thou Granger _would_ be clever enough to know she'd of had to half-starve herself all summer to look as she did now. Who was _she_ to judge? Granger had never had that annoying baby fat cling to her. And Viktor _fucking_ Krum had practically stalked her the whole year before. What did she have to worry about? It was acceptable to grow up and let herself go like that baggy Weasley woman, but Pansy had _Graham._ Pansy had expectations she had to meet.

Speaking of Graham, he'd apparently entered while she glared out the window. When he started the meeting without even telling her hello, she knew he was still cross with her from the party.

Pansy tore her eyes away from the window pane to see the compartment now filled, all familiar faces, though only a few of which she knew their names. Draco sat with the other Slytherins in the corner Carrow occupied, but he offered her a smile which she couldn't make herself reciprocate. She was too busy looking at Hestia Carrow, who wouldn't tear her eyes away from Graham, a small smile playing on her mouth.

Alicia Spinnet, who had been named Head Girl, was talking now and Graham hardly seemed to be listening, eyes glued on Carrow with a smirk.

Pansy tuned out the rest of the meeting. Her sight had shot back out the window to hide the way her eyes were stinging and her mind was too furious to make any sense of the things being said.

The meeting dragged on for ages, but when she noticed others beginning to stand and head for the door, the meeting apparently over, Pansy shot up and out into the corridor before either Graham or Draco could stop her. The trolly was ahead of her, boasting several dozen different sweets. Pansy's stomach gave a loud growl and she decided that right then, she didn't feel like telling it no. As she approached, her hand pulled out several gold coins from her robe pocket, her mouth watering while she formulated the plan in her head.

First a Chocolate Frog, a licorice wand, and a cauldron cake. Then she'd dart off to the back of the train, find an empty compartment, and play the avoidance game while she downed her sweets. Eventually she would have to find Draco and figure out what they were supposed to do as prefects since she hadn't paid attention, but right that moment all she could think of was reaching the damn trolly and disappearing in case Graham decided to follow and witness how weak her willpower was.


	4. Chapter 4

Fred

"Sweets from the trolly, dears?"

The kind older woman waited while Lee pulled a few coins out, then milled over the options on the cart. Fred rolled his eyes. Lee had always been indecisive. "Oi, we haven't got all day," he teased, digging into his pocket and pulling out a few sickles of his own. Might as well treat himself to a Chocolate Frog to celebrate the beginning of his seventh year. No one else was more surprised than him that he'd made it so long in school.

"Just a moment, dear," the woman said to someone outside in the corridor. When Fred stood and strode toward the door with sickles in hand, baby snake came into view. She was fidgeting, clacking coins in her hands in impatience. It didn't seem hostile so much as she came across as anxious.

" _Pansy,"_ a boy called from farther down the corridor. Parkinson grimaced, but didn't look down at the voice calling her. Instead she took a step away from the cart and clutched her hand around the coins.

"Never mind," she muttered, then passed the trolly and was off in the direction opposite the voice. Fred was too curious for his own good and squeezed out past the trolly into the corridor, taking a non-committal look toward the voice. Montague was down a few doors, trying to push through a group of younger kids, his eyes glued on what Fred assumed was a retreating Parkinson.

As he thought. The sight of Montague made something in his stomach tighten. He turned his back on the Head Boy and pretended to be looking over the cart, though he took a wide stance and blocked the path where the trolly didn't.

Lee was still milling through all the sweets when he felt Montague try and step past him. Between Fred and the cart, though, he wasn't getting through.

"Oi, there's a line here," Fred said when Montague tried to weasel past. "Wait your turn."

Montague looked in the direction Parkinson had gone, then shot Fred one of the nastiest looks he'd ever seen. At least he was bright enough to realize he wasn't going to get through anytime soon – Lee had picked up both a handful of Pumpkin Pasties and a box of Bertie Bott's and was weighing them in his hands, having some mental debate.

"I'll deal with it later," Montague muttered darkly under his breath, then spun on his heel and went back the way he came.

Fred chanced a look Parkinson's way and felt relieved to see she had vanished into some compartment farther down the train.

"And what about you, dearie?"

It took Fred a moment to realize the trolly lady was speaking to him. When he did, he gave a sharp shake to his head as if knocking sense back into himself. "Right, sorry," he said, looking down at the four sickles in his hand. Just enough for one. "Chocolate Frog, please."

Little blue box in hand, he muttered to George and Lee that he'd be right back and shuffled around the trolly. Merlin, he didn't even know why, but it was obvious he'd gone mad.

Each open curtain earned a peek inside and each closed curtain was interrupted by a knock. When they didn't answer he would poke his head in, which twice resulted in Fred seeing more than he bargained for with young couples.

He was nearing the end of the train when he came across another close-curtained compartment. All he could think was that he was utterly out of his mind as he knocked.

No answer. Well, she had to be behind _one_ of them. As luck would have it, he found as he opened the door, it was that one.

Parkinson looked up at him in alarm, then seeing it was him, a confused look passed over her eyes for a split-second. _"Occupied,"_ she said, then turned her attention out the window.

"I know," Fred said, stepping inside. When he closed the door behind him, she gave him a wary look as if he were going to hex her any moment. "I was looking for you."

Parkinson studied him for a moment. Fred assumed she didn't find any immediate reason to go screaming for help when she turned her attention back to the window. "Can't imagine why," she said, a note of disinterest in her voice.

"Peace negotiations," he said with a cheeky grin, tossing the Chocolate Frog and landing it right in her lap. Parkinson looked down at it, then up at him with a tucked brow.

"I wasn't aware we were at war," she said, plucking the sweet from her lap with two fingers and tossing it to the floor as if she were afraid to touch it. The corner of the blue box dented when it hit and, for some reason, it irritated him that she was so careless with something thoughtful. Not that he would admit to using his last sickles to get it for her.

"Not _yet,_ " he said, brushing his annoyance aside and allowing his grin to grow. Fred took the seat opposite her and put his back to the wall, stretching his long legs across the bench. Parkinson threw a look at the door, uncertainty sketched in her eyes. "But all bets are off once we get to school."

"Is that a threat?" she spat, ripping her eyes from the door to him. "If you're going to be cryptic, you can just leave. You're only going to cause trouble being here anyway."

Ah, so that's why her eyes kept darting to the door. It wasn't that she was trying to come up with an escape, it was that she was worried Montague would find them there alone.

"Don't worry, I sent your git of a boyfriend the other direction."

"You… _what?_ Why?"

Fred shrugged again. "I got the impression you wanted to be alone. Not to mention he doesn't seem the type to be keen on me hangin' around his girlfriend."

Parkinson stared at him for a moment, then pursed her lips and arched a brow. "Which brings us back to why you're here. If it's only to make idle chat, then you can be on your way. I'll be happier for it."

Oh, she was a little snot, wasn't she? Two-faced, as well. In front of his parents, she'd been polite and docile, but she only offered him venom when alone.

"I told you," he said. "Peace negotiations. You're prefect -," he paused, grin dropping, "- and Georgie and I don't like prefects."

Parkinson cocked her head to the side and eyed him, arms crossing over her chest. "Why do I get the impression that every dumb sentence falling out of your mouth is intended to be a threat? Don't be a puss about it, if you're going to threaten me, then threaten me."

Honestly – and he wasn't sure why – he found her amusing. Maybe it was because her nastiness was so off-set by her small stature. Fred thought of small, short girls as sweet and giggly. Parkinson was neither. And it was hard to picture her ever, at any point in her life, being either of those things.

"Fine," he said with another shrug. "You're part of our game this year."

Parkinson's mouth tightened. "I'm not having _anything_ to do with you lot."

"You don't have a choice," he countered.

At this she sobered, snapping her mouth shut so hard that he heard her teeth clack together.

Fred rolled up on one hip and dug deep into his pocket. After years of being caught with things he ought not to have, he figured out a way to charm his trousers with a hidden compartment. When he pushed his hand to the bottom, the seam would open up, revealing an extra pocket that only let _his_ hand in. A handful of metal trinkets were hidden there and he pulled them out, tossing one over to Parkinson who he was surprised to see catch it with one hand.

" _Nice!"_ he said with a laugh. "You should go for seeker!"

Parkinson stared at him like he had a third eyeball, then shook her head with a sigh and looked down at the metal ring. Of course, Slytherin had never once had a girl play on their team in the entire history of the school, but he thought she had wasted potential.

"Am I supposed to be impressed by a hunk of tin?" she said slowly, turning it over in her hands. Fred plucked up one with his free hand. The metal was thin and formed a hollow tube, the sides no taller than an inch high. Engraved on his was _L J 0._

"Find the letters," he told her. "On the side. What's yours say?"

Parkinson was getting irritated, a confused tuck dominating her brow. "F-W-zero," she said in a moody tone, huffing a huge sigh as if this was the biggest waste of her time possible.

"Oh," he said with a grin. "You've got mine."

"What is it?" she asked, holding it up to her face and inspecting it closely. Ah, so she _was_ curious. Of course, if he said as much, she'd clam back up, so he let the comment pass.

"They're enchanted to keep score," he said simply.

Parkinson tore her eyes from the small tube. "Score of _what?"_ she asked, voice apprehensive.

Fred only smiled in reply to her question. When he pulled out his wand, he saw her hand clench and draw toward her waist. Must've been where she kept her wand. Fred filed away that bit of information. You never knew when it might be useful to know something like that about someone.

"It goes on your wand," he explained, slipping the tube around his wand and allowing it to magically shrink and fit itself tight. "Any points you score while it's on will automatically go on your counter."

" _Points for what?"_ she asked sharply.

"The Hunt," he said with a smile. Fred liked being cryptic if only because it was annoying her. It was satisfying to see the irritation cross her eyes.

"And what's the Hunt?"

Again, he only smiled at her question and continued the explanation at his own pace. "Players are only allowed to have their counters when it's lights out. They have to have them back to me or Georgie before curfew breaks in the mornings."

"I still don't see what any of this stupidity has to do with me. I'm not playing some childish game."

At this, Fred laughed.

"No, you're not _playing._ Snake brats get to be the moving targets. It's an honor, really."

Parkinson glared at him and, for what he assumed was the first time in her life, had nothing to say.

"Any Slytherin is worth 10 points. You and Malfoy are 20. Sixth year prefects are 30. Seventh year prefect is 40 and your boyfriend is 50. Hitting a non-Slytherin is -20. Hitting a teacher is -100."

"Hit us with _what?"_

"Anything," he said, the cheekiness in his voice only amplifying the darkness of his point. "Jinx, hex, _anything._ Georgie and I want to test some new products, so we've enchanted the counters to recognize non-wand magic, too. So while you lot are out on your prefect rounds, we're going to blow off some steam. They say N.E.W.T. year is the worst, after all."

A red flush was creeping its way up Parkinson's neck and her eyes gleamed. For a moment she looked crazed. "Do you get negative points when I _Crucio_ your arse so hard you forget your middle name?" she spat, face welling up into a snarl. "I _dare_ you to hit me with a hex. Because the first person to touch a hair on my head will be made example of and, Merlin help me, I _really_ hope it's you."

The intensity of her sudden outburst made his stomach clench. It reminded him of being in trouble with his mum. Except, you know, Parkinson was completely dreadful. But, for what it was worth, he thought she might make a good teacher. No one would disobey because they'd all be terrified of her.

"Well, that's why I'm here," he said, ignoring the feeling that maybe he was pushing her too far. "I've come to broker a deal. I don't think I could hex you since you look about eleven and I don't much like hurting little kids. So you give us information on location and time of after-hours prefect duties and I'll make you worth negative points."

Fred was literally making it up as he went, but it sounded like a fair enough deal to him. If Parkinson was giving them that sort of information, then it would drastically cut down on their time actually _looking_ for a prefect to be target. Apparently, she didn't think it was a fair deal. Maybe it was that he was trying to get her to turn on her own. Maybe it was because he said she looked like a little kid. But it became clear that what he'd said was not the _right thing_ to say. If possible, her neck grew even more red, the flush creeping up over her face. Parkinson's eyes narrowed to slits, her nostrils flaring. She looked fucking evil.

" _Get out,"_ she said through clenched teeth.

Fred rolled his eyes, trying to act like she wasn't the scariest fucking thing he'd ever seen. In fact, he was sure the next time he saw a boggart, Pansy Parkinson with that expression was what he'd see. "Think on it," he said, standing. "I'll give you tonight, since I'm charitable. Sleep on it and let me know."

" _Out,"_ she said and that time he listened, glad to be out of reach in case she decided to start breathing fire. As he walked out into the corridor, he eyed the Chocolate Frog in its dented box. A flame of victory grew inside because it was going to be stuck there with her, so she'd probably eat it. Wasn't that how this started out? Didn't he feel bad because she didn't have time to get a sweet off the trolly? He could hardly remember anymore, that fact only adding to the undeniable truth that he was going mad.

Man, Parkinson could be wicked scary. But, as he walked back to his compartment, a goofy smile broke out over his face. He didn't know why, but it was really fun picking on her.


	5. Chapter 5

Pansy

Pansy was still fuming after the welcome feast. She was so livid with that Weasley twat that she forgot to be cross with Graham.

"He's probably just trying to scare you," Graham said, unpacking things from his trunk. Slytherin prefects got their own rooms so as not to disturb the other students with their late hours. Rumor had it they were the only house that did such a thing. Pansy thought it was nice, though. Now she didn't have to hide Lizzie under her bed in fear that someone would find her pet and make fun of her.

"I think I might've scared him more," she said with a grin. "You should've seen how quick he got out of there when I went off."

Graham smiled – Merlin it was a charming smile – and she was reminded of the early days in their relationship. It made her swoon a bit. "I might need you to protect me, then," he teased.

Pansy's heart thrummed despite her better judgement. Their relationship was… _complicated_ to say in the least. There were certainly more sour moments than good, but the good – along with the pressure from their parents and the fear of being alone – kept them together.

"I do think he meant it, though," she said, hoisting herself up onto his bed. "Why would he go through all the trouble of making those counter things just to frighten me?"

Graham refolded a shirt and sat it next to her, rolling his eyes. "Who knows why they do anything? Trust me, I've grown up with them. They'll go to amazing lengths just to trick people. You shouldn't be so gullible, Pans."

She thought on that for a moment, brow tucked. "Yeah," she started, "but why would they come to me? I'd never so much as said a word to either of them until the other day."

Graham froze in place, shirt half-folded. When his lips tightened, she felt a pang of dread. "When did you speak to them the other day?" he asked in a careful tone.

Pansy chewed the inside of her lip. "I ran into one of them at Flourish and Blott's. Not sure which one. I can't tell them apart."

One of Graham's eyebrows shot up and she knew she was in trouble. "So you decided to have a conversation with one of those Weasley twins out in public where just anyone could see you? When you have a boyfriend, no less. I thought you'd be a bit more careful after this past summer. They might start saying you're just like your father."

Heat was crawling up her neck, but she did all she could to control the nasty words threatening to spill from her mouth. _"No,"_ she said. "The entire shop was empty except us and the shopkeeper. No one saw."

That apparently wasn't the right thing to say. Graham's ears were going red at an alarming rate. Merlin, how did he just make her heart pound a few moments ago? How on earth did she find this terrible human being attractive? "So you were _alone_ with one of the Weasley gits the other day and now you're telling me you were alone with one again tonight?"

Pansy sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Yes, Graham, and I snogged them both because I'm such a slut," she spat.

After that they fell into a tense silence. Graham just kept folding shirts and Pansy sat there fuming. Honestly, what did he expect? How could he get angry over the _Weasley twins?_ Did he really think she'd stoop so low?

"So what could you have possibly talked about the other day?" he said, finally breaking the silence.

Pansy shrugged, her sour mood evident. "I had to climb a shelf for a book and he tried to get it for me. I basically told him to sod off."

"And that's _it?"_ Graham pressed, tone unbelieving. It took all she had not to roll her eyes at him.

"Then he was a total prat, stole my school list, knocked one of my books to the ground, and told me he'd see me in class."

The last folded shirt was piled next to her and he turned, giving her a quizzical look. "In class?"

Oh, that's right. Pansy never answered any of his letters. Or read them, for that matter. "I tested out of O.W.L. Herbology. They're letting me take it with seventh years."

Graham's eyebrows shot sky high. "And when were you planning on telling me this?"

Oh, she'd had about enough of his I'm-the-master-of-the-universe shit, but she reined in her temper.

"It slipped my mind. Sorry," she said, refusing to look at him.

There were a few beats of silence before Graham reached over and nudged her chin up. When Pansy met his eyes, they didn't seem nearly as angry as she thought they would.

"Doesn't matter now. I've got you all to myself for the rest of the year."

Pansy grinned, though her heart wasn't really in it. "Yep," she said, letting him give her a small peck on the lips. When he lingered, she pulled away with an apologetic smile. "It's getting late, I should go unpack."

"You should come back when you're done," he said with a grin, bending to kiss her once more. Pansy held back an irritated sigh.

"Maybe tomorrow," she said, giving the most amazing fake yawn she'd ever mustered in her life. "I just want to unpack and crash."

Graham groaned, but agreed to let her go and Pansy found herself on the way back to her room. When she got there and closed the door, there were a series of metallic clicks signaling that it was locked. A relieved sigh blew from her mouth. _Finally_ alone.

This year she'd been allowed to get a new trunk as her old one was scuffed to pieces. She was used to the old brown one and so when she saw the new black trunk sitting at the end of her bed, she had a moment of confusion where she thought she'd gone in the wrong room. Pansy shook her head as if unscrambling her brain. It couldn't have been someone else's room, anyway. Only the touch of her hand could open her door. All the prefect rooms were like that.

Having a room to herself was going to take some getting used to. There would be no more late-night gossip fests with Millicent and Daphne. Now her late evenings would be spent trying to dodge those animals Fred and George.

Just the thought of it worsened her mood, but she found herself idly wondering whether she'd talked to the same twin twice or a different one each time. What if each time was different and they didn't even know the other had spoken to her? Did twininess extend that far? The thought of it creeped her out. There were only three sets of twins in the school – Weasley, Patil, and Carrow. Of course, as the Carrow sisters were Slytherin, Pansy knew of them most. It wasn't difficult at all to tell them apart. Hestia beamed with the prospect of a bright future. She had a well-kept appearance, good grades, and a shiny sixth year prefect badge. Flora, on the other hand, seemed to model her hair routine after Professor Snape's and spent many of her evenings scrubbing floors for Filch.

The Patil girls were in Pansy's year, so she had classes with them from time to time. Both seemed quiet, but were in different houses, so they were easy to tell apart.

The Weasley twins, though…it was almost as if they were one and the same person. During her heated glaring at the welcome feast, Pansy noticed that they synchronized a lot, saying the same things at the same time. It wasn't difficult to hear them as they were the loudest, rudest people she'd ever encountered. They practically screamed when they talked.

" _Attention whores,"_ she muttered to herself, popping open the trunk and beginning to unpack.

And even beyond the talking, they had the _exact_ same mannerisms. She was nearly sure they did it on purpose to avoid being told apart. It wasn't uncommon to pass them in the corridors and hear them say, "Oi, I'm Fred!" or "He's not George, I am!" So it wasn't as if the year and house distance made any difference – even their close friends had difficulty deciphering one from the other.

"They probably share one brain," she said out loud, then rolled her eyes at herself. Merlin, talking to no one, she was going mad, wasn't she? Even wasting brain space _thinking_ about those gits was mad.

With a huff, she pushed the two from her mind and went to unpacking. The single rooms were nice. They were furnished with a single canopy bed made with dark wood. There was a matching bedside table, which Lizzie was snoring on, and a mirrored wardrobe. The walls were thick stone and only amplified the suffocating fact that the Slytherin commons had no windows. It was always so cold down there, too, and she thought they must be near the lake underground, but never bothered to find out.

Pansy felt deflated when she put away the last of her things and had nothing left to do. It was probably getting late anyway. The other Slytherins typically began the year with catching up in the commons, staying up all night telling summer stories and sipping smuggled Butterbeer. That just didn't seem appealing to her. In all honesty, Pansy had been feeling down all summer and didn't want to have the past three months brought up, lest she have to talk about her father's affair. The feast was bad enough – she'd been subject to stares and behind-the-hand whispers. Worst of all the houses was her own.

No, she didn't want to even deal with it. Instead she changed into her night clothes and found herself staring at the empty Chocolate Frog box. Pansy grimaced, guilt gnawing at her for caving and eating his stupid peace offering. Not that she'd ever let him know that in a million years. Right after she'd lost her reserve on the train and shoved it down her throat, she was on the hunt for the trolly lady. The empty box sat next to Lizzie on her bedside table and the new, unwrapped Chocolate Frog sat right next to it. Right, so the next day she was just going to march it over to him, drop it in his lap, and leave without a word.

Once Pansy extinguished the light and laid in bed, she tried to calm her mind, but just couldn't. No matter how hard she tried to push the image away, that twat's stupid face came into her head. The more she thought about it, the less she thought giving the Chocolate Frog to him in person was a good idea. Maybe she'd just owl it and avoid talking to him altogether.

Pansy groaned at her cowardice and turned onto her belly, trying to get comfortable. Forcing her mind onto other things, she thought of Graham, but that only made her think about him being angry over the Weasley twins.

_Next._ Merlin, what else could she think about? Tomorrow was going to be a big day, wasn't it? And she needed to talk to Draco about prefect duties. Plus she had to figure in time for a run when other people wouldn't see her. Probably in the early morning.

Pansy was _just_ beginning to drift into sleep when she replayed that Weasley git telling her she looked like a little kid. Ugh, she did, didn't she? Irritated, she rolled over onto her back and let her hands find her lack of bust. Merlin, small in all the wrong places and too big everywhere else. No matter how hard she ran, her thighs still pressed together and the baby fat clung to her belly. And there were probably second years taller than she was.

Again, she urged herself to think of the next day to get her mind off things that wouldn't allow her sleep. But, that just got her wondering about her class schedule, which had her fretting over Herbology. What if she got stuck with the twins? What if she wasn't with her fellow Slytherins? Each class usually only consisted of two houses. But since she was a fifth year taking a more advanced class, she wasn't sure how that would work with her schedule. Ending up with Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws would be better than getting stuck with the twins.

Pansy rolled over and screamed into her pillow. That was how much of her evening was spent. Each time she grew close to sleep, she'd think of the Weasley prats and instantly wake herself up.

"Fuck it," she finally said, throwing the covers back and snatching the new Chocolate Frog off the table. Hours had to have passed and dawn would probably be there in the next hour or so. It was apparent she was getting no sleep, so she might as well be productive.

First night back at Hogwarts and she was already sneaking out afterhours. Well, if she got caught, she could always pull the prefect card, though it'd be hard to believe she was doing rounds on their very first night.

Oh well. She'd snuck out plenty of times and never been caught. First she'd head to the Owlery and send the frog to…oh, which one was it? _Fred._ Yes, she remembered him talking about George on the train, which meant he had to be Fred. Right, so she'd send the frog to that git, go get her run, and be back in time for breakfast.

When she stepped out of her room, she heard a girl's muffled giggle. Strange. Hestia's door was open, the light still on. Nerves twisted in her stomach, wondering if some older years were still up in the common room. But, when she peeked out there, all the lights were extinguished and not a soul was out of bed except her.

Pansy thought of how Hestia smiled at Graham on the train and how he smiled back. Then she pushed the thought aside and went on her way, despite the feeling of inadequacy flooding through her.


	6. Chapter 6

Fred

"We shouldn't have drunk so much," George said miserably. Fred only hummed in agreement, keeping the ache in his head at bay. Usually the two were all smiles, but that morning Fred felt like a living Inferius and the Inferi didn't seem like the smiling sort.

When they entered the Great Hall, puffy-eyed and dry-mouthed, the roar of the other students nearly made his head explode. Lee was still sleeping when they left Gryffindor Tower and so the two shuffled over to their younger siblings, who were sitting with Harry and Hermione.

"Don't you two look rested," Hermione said with distaste.

"I think we had a bit too much to drink," Fred said, following his words with a long gulp of water to soothe his dry throat. Ron snorted and nearly spat out his pumpkin juice.

"Yeah," he said, stopping to cough, "I think we all figured that out last night when you idiots had your shirts off tryin' to climb the girl's staircase and serenade them."

Ginny grinned, swallowing her food before speaking. "You two have really awful voices."

Fred shared a look with his twin, then they both shrugged and said, "Don't remember."

"I'm surprised you don't have amnesia with how many times you hit your head," Hermione chimed. Her eyebrows were high and her mouth tight, which Fred knew was usually a look of disapproval she saved for their younger brother.

Harry sat across from Fred and was grinning at the exchange taking place. "You weren't letting the slide staircase stop you," he said.

"Yeah," Ginny added, "You idiots must've tumbled down them ten times."

"No wonder I've got bruises," George said with a snort, piling eggs on his plate. Fred was about to chime in that he also had bruises, but the morning mail began sweeping in and everyone's attention diverted upward.

The mail on the first day of school was usually scarce, consisting mostly of things students had forgotten at home. Fred turned his attention to the plate in front of him and nearly jumped out of his skin when a shiny blue box landed right in his eggs and scattered them all over his lap.

For a moment he just stared at it, hung over brain taking its time. A Chocolate Frog? _Oh!_

"Oi, Freddie, you've got a secret admirer?" George said, reaching over and stealing his Chocolate Frog.

"Hey, hands off!" Fred said, snagging it back and tucking it away in his ratty school bag. He chanced a quick look at the Slytherin table and met eyes with Parkinson for only a brief second before looking back to George. "I'll fill you in later."

Harry and Ron had missed the entire exchange, but Hermione and Ginny gave him expectant looks. He only grinned and was glad for the distraction of McGonagall passing out the time tables. When she handed Fred his, he and George looked at them for a moment, then switched as she'd gotten them mixed up.

"Ugh," George groaned. "We've got Transfiguration first thing in the morning."

McGonagall was still standing there trying to find Ginny's schedule and paused, shooting him a look. "Imagine how excited I feel to have such a _rambunctious_ group for my first class of the day," she said, giving them a knowing smirk before passing their sister her schedule and continuing down the table.

"Way to make it awkward," Ron muttered, not bothering to look at his time table, focusing on his pile of sausage instead.

"I've got Transfiguration first, too," Hermione said in a distracted tone, eyes scanning her schedule with fervor.

Oh, that's right. Hermione was taking a few seventh year classes. The thought brought Parkinson to mind and his eyes darted to her again. She was sitting next to Montague, fork in hand, eyes closed. Merlin, he knew the feeling.

"Which seventh year classes are you taking?" he asked, turning his attention back to Hermione.

"Transfiguration and Charms," she said, finally pulling her eyes from the parchment to look at him. "It was a hard choice, but they only let us take two."

Part of Fred was disappointed. He was hoping she was also taking seventh year Herbology, so he could see if he had it at the same time as the fifth years who got bumped up to his grade. If he had Herbology with Parkinson, he'd have endless opportunities to pester her.

Fred checked his schedule. Herbology was third after Transfiguration and a free period. Not too long to find out, then.

The morning actually passed pretty quickly. Transfiguration was dreadful, of course, but the free period sped by while he brought George up to speed with Parkinson, the two sipping on water and nibbling toast while they talked. By the time free period ended, they were feeling close to normal.

"It'd have been nice to have her play informant," George said as they walked down to the greenhouses. "But it was a stretch."

"Points for trying," he said with a shrug.

On the first floor, he saw a familiar short-statured sight in front of them, walking in the same direction. Fred grinned and then nudged his twin in the ribs. When Georgie looked at him, Fred pointed at her back and mouthed, "Parkinson."

George's grin grew to match Fred's and they sped their walk, coming up on her and each taking a side. "Morning," they said in unison. Parkinson grimaced, but kept her vision straight ahead and didn't look at either of them.

A stream of Hufflepuffs were also heading for the greenhouses and Fred felt a flare of triumph in his chest. A whole greenhouse full of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and poor little Parkinson was all on her own. She was going to be _so_ easy to pick on without her git of a boyfriend there.

Parkinson seemed to have already known she was going to be without fellow Slytherins because her face didn't become anymore grim than it already was.

"Not smart to turn down the peace offering," George said, prodding her to talk. Parkinson tried to speed up, but her short little legs were no match for them. All she offered was a sigh once they were back at her side.

When they reached the greenhouse, Parkinson shot inside. All three of them couldn't fit through the door at once and the twins smacked off the stone doorframe in their haste to keep up with her. Alright, point for Parkinson. When they managed to get through the door, they saw she was sitting in the far back corner by herself. The twins looked at each other and rolled their eyes. As if that was going to stop them. They waddled past their Gryffindor classmates and made their way over to her. Fred took the seat next to her at the double tables and George took the seat in front. Lee shuffled in right after and plopped down next to George, then _thunked_ his head on the desk. Apparently he hadn't noticed their company.

Parkinson was staring straight ahead, redness creeping up her neck. "Oh, come off it, Parkinson," he said, giving her shoulder a nudge with his. "You're in for a treat. Georgie and I are a riot in class."

"So I've heard," she said with distaste.

Professor Sprout bustled in and began fretting with a few potted plants at the front of the class and everyone turned toward her, prepared for class to start. Fred took the opportunity to dig the Chocolate Frog out of his bag. He slid one arm around the back of her chair and leaned in close, Chocolate Frog in the other hand. He could smell the traces of perfume on her, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the day at Flourish and Blott's.

"See the funny thing -," he whispered, "- is that the Chocolate Frog I gave you was in a dented box. Odd how this one is perfect."

Parkinson could play games all she wanted, but he played them better.

" _Fuck off,"_ she said, loud enough that Professor Sprout looked up. Fred's arm had already abandoned her chair and he was now sitting in his proper place, trying to look like an upstanding student with his book already open.

"Miss Parkinson, I do not tolerate rude language in my class. Ten points from Slytherin."

Parkinson shot him a death glare and he offered her a wicked grin in reply, leaning back and tipping his chair up on two legs. He was sure to leave the Chocolate Frog near her arm which she pushed away in a fury once Sprout turned to write something on the mobile blackboard.

"I hope you like your seats," Sprout said with her back to the class. "That's where you'll be for the rest of the year."

Fred couldn't help the laugh that snaked out his throat, but he quickly covered it with his hand and made it into a cough. Parkinson's entire neck was red and the color was beginning to creep up her cheeks. Oh, it was perfect. She was stuck with him all year. George threw a grin at her over his shoulder and Lee finally lifted his head off the desk and turned to see what George was looking at. Confusion and grog took over Lee's face, as well as several red markings from lying on the desk. He began to say something, probably asking what the bloody hell they were doing sitting with Parkinson, but Sprout hushed the class and began her lesson.

For the first half of class, Parkinson took notes like a mad woman. When he noticed her quill had stopped, he chanced a look at her and saw she'd fallen asleep in the middle of a sentence. Now that she was unaware, he studied her face and saw that, despite the metric ton of makeup she had on, dark circles hung beneath her eyes. Maybe she'd been up all night drinking, too. Though he doubted it. Parkinson didn't seem the sort capable of having fun.

But _he_ was. Fred glanced up at Sprout to make sure she wasn't paying attention and then dipped his quill in the ink with a grin. The sleeve of her robe was pushed up, as his were as well, to dispel the heat in the greenhouse. When he put the quill to her arm, he trained a careful eye on her face to make sure she wouldn't wake.

Not even a little stir. The next half hour was spent doodling rude words and pictures all over her arm and hand. His favorite was a crude drawing of Montague with a unibrow, the words next to it reading: _My boyfriend has a stick up his arse._

Well, it might be childish, but he was having a laugh over it.

By the time class was coming to an end, Fred had his things all put away, acting innocent as ever. Parkinson was still snoozing when Sprout dismissed class and he stood, then grabbed the back of her chair and jerked it up on its two hind legs. Parkinson sprang to life, trying to cling to the table and knocking her inkwell over on her notes in the process. Fred laughed and let her chair clang back down on four legs.

"Class is over, sleepyhead," he said with a grin. "See you tonight."


	7. Chapter 7

Pansy 

Pansy shrieked and ducked just in time for the silver light to shoot over her head. If she'd have had time, she would have fired a hex back over her shoulder, but whichever twin was on her heels was not backing down. If she stopped running to cast back, she'd be hit.

Elsewhere in the dungeons, she heard Carrow let out a shriek. In the opposite direction, Draco was yelling. All around was hysterical laughter. Everything was in pure chaos.

Graham had been adamant that the twins were just messing with her about the Hunt. He'd ignored her protests to a Slytherin prefect meeting and so, when all six of them were wandering the dungeons to learn the route for their rounds, they were ambushed.

Pansy didn't even know where the hexes had come from. It seemed like every direction. All she knew is that there were a bunch of lights shooting from everywhere and the Slytherin prefects had scattered like rats. All around was laughter and shrieking while she wound deeper and deeper into the dungeons.

As she ran, the noises from behind grew more quiet and the corridors ahead darker. Eventually all she could hear was her own heavy breathing, the laughter of the twin behind her, and their footsteps.

"This is horribly childish," she yelled, not bothering to turn around. Another light breezed past her shoulder.

"Should've taken my deal," he called out.

Then she was hit. Pansy's legs locked together and she went sprawling face first into the jagged stone floor. As her hands were preoccupied trying to catch herself, her wand went tumbling, rolling out of reach.

"Points for me," the twin said and she could hear that he slowed now that she was down. Pansy gave an irritated grunt and threw her arms out in front of her, trying to drag herself to her abandoned wand.

Each of his footsteps raised a new level of dread and she let out a groan when his feet came into view.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, taking the moment to step on her outstretched fingers. Not with his full weight, though – just enough to get the point across that he was the one in power.

"Get off me, you fucking weasel," she spat through clenched teeth.

He never got a chance to reply. There was a glass-shattering meow and he cursed. The next thing Pansy knew, he'd grabbed her wand, then she was being hoisted up in the air and slung over his shoulder.

"Let me _down_ this instant," she screamed, trying to wriggle free.

" _Shut up,"_ he demanded. Pansy felt him throw something and then everything in the corridor went pitch black.

"Put me _down._ "

It was so dark that she couldn't tell if her eyes were open or not. Weasley seemed to know where he was going, though, his quick steps causing his shoulder to dig into her stomach.

"Ow, you're hurting me, you git," she whined, glad to see the black smoke was beginning to clear the farther he walked. For a moment she thought she was falling, but Weasley was letting her down. Graham would have been furious to see the split-second when that Weasley git's hand brushed over her backside. It was over as quickly as it started and then she was standing on her locked legs, back leaning against a stone wall.

"You touch my arse ever again and I will _knock_ your teeth out," she spat. Weasley looked amused, but gave his wand a quick flick and then she had the unpleasant sensation of her tongue being stuck to the roof of her mouth.

"That's better," he muttered, then grew still. She did, as well, listening for that stupid Mrs. Norris in hopes that she'd be saved. They were deep enough into the dungeons that she couldn't hear the rest of the Hunt going on, but after a moment she did hear the ragged wheezing that was distinct of Filch. Despite her tongue being stuck, she let out a muffled scream, hoping to alert the caretaker.

" _Bloody hell,"_ Weasley muttered, pushing his hand over her mouth to further muffle the sound. "Shut up," he said under his breath. "Shut up or I'll make you worth double points."

At that Pansy sobered. The Hunt was insane enough being the next to lowest point worth. If she doubled, she'd be on par with Graham.

"Who's there?" Filch called out. The corridor was beginning to clear and she could see now that the two of them were tucked away in a side corridor.

Pansy didn't dare make a peep and make herself a bigger target than she already was. There was a long moment when Weasley studied her, hand still clamped over her mouth, before he was sure he trusted her enough to release his hand.

There was another scream from somewhere farther away and Pansy could hear Filch take off in a hurried gait, muttering either to himself or that damn cat of his. The two of them stood still as stone until the caretaker's labored breathing was no longer heard.

"Now, where were we?" the twin said with that wicked smile. Something uncomfortable clenched in Pansy's stomach, but all she could manage was a sigh since she couldn't exactly speak. She refused to look at him, instead clenching both teeth and eyes in anticipation of the impact of whatever hex he was going to get her with.

"Maybe not," he said and she opened her eyes with unease to see the same wickedness etched on his face as before. "I'll let you off the hook tonight since you played nice."

 _Played nice?_ Since when was any of this Hunt thing _nice?_ If she could have, she would have told him as much, but Weasley threw her a wink as he twirled her wand between his fingers and turned on his heel, leaving her with two immobile legs and no speech.

"See you in class," he called over his shoulder, then was gone around a corner.

That's it. She was going to murder him.

You _do not_ take someone's wand! That's…that's just something you _don't do!_

Pansy let out a scream of frustration, but the sound was muffled and she knew it didn't carry very far.

If she was feeling murderous when he left her, then she was bordering maniacal by the time Graham stumbled upon her late that evening.

"I don't understand how you could just let him take your wand," he chided as they made their way back through the dark dungeons. Besides a stiff back, she had to admit her bit of the Hunt wasn't _too_ bad. Especially looking at Graham, who was missing an eyebrow. Being isolated with the one Weasley probably kept her out of the worst of it. The thought made her mind wander to his hand on her backside for that quick moment and she clenched her teeth. _Prick._

Pansy made the wise move of not answering Graham. It was only the second day of the school year and already those Weasley gits had made this the worst year yet. She was stuck next to one all year for Herbology, she had to deal with this Hunt crap, and they'd had her and Graham at odds since the night before.

"What is that all over your arm?" Graham demanded. "You look like a heathen. For Merlin's sake, use parchment for notes, not your arm. I can't have people saying I've got a sloppy girlfriend."

Pansy nearly cursed herself, having lifted her arm to tuck some loose hair behind her ear, forgetting one of those gits had doodled on her during Herbology.

"It wasn't me," she said in annoyance. "The Weasley twins strike again."

Graham stopped and arched the one brow he had left. "Your arms were free. What did you do, just _let_ them write all over you?"

Pansy then stopped and gave a loud sigh. _"No,_ Graham, one of them did it in class today."

"In class?"

"In Herbology."

Did he not understand she was already on edge? It was like he was _trying_ to pick a fight.

"What, so now you're hanging out with the Weasley's in class? You'll be eating with them, too, soon enough."

" _Shut up."_

Graham's expression moved from irritated to downright frightening. "Let me see your arm," he said, grabbing her wrist and jerking it toward him.

" _Stop it!"_ she protested, but he wrenched back her sleeve and studied the damage. There were several rude words all over her arm, an extremely crude male part, and the drawing of Graham with the unibrow.

Pansy knew when he saw the drawing of him. His fingers dug into her wrist and he grew deathly silent.

"And you walked around like this all day? What, having a laugh?" he said, voice growing in ferocity.

Pansy wasn't sure what to say, her mouth opening and closing several times like a fish. At her silence, he dug his fingers into her skin even harder and turned on his heel, dragging her behind. Dread flooded her stomach. The last time he'd looked so mad was when he'd hurt her wrist the year before.


	8. Chapter 8

Fred

Sending the Chocolate Frog back to Parkinson ended up being a lot more lackluster than he thought. From across the Great Hall, his eyes would flicker to her at every chance. Parkinson seemed deflated, not really talking to anyone around her. Even though she and Montague sat side-by-side, there might as well been leagues between them. The two sat with shoulders angled away from each other and Parkinson looked downright sullen while Montague joked with his buddies.

Was she that angry over her wand? Merlin, it's not like he wasn't going to give it back. What good would someone else's wand do him?

"Mate, what're you starin' at?"

The voice had a sleepy tug to it that was distinctive of Lee. Fred gave a lazy turn of his head, eyes finding both his twin and Lee staring at him. A smirk grew across his face.

"Last night I nicked Parkinson's wand. She knows I took it, too. I'm just wondering if she'll make a scene now or track me down later."

Lee snorted and then tipped back his goblet for a long chug of pumpkin juice. George's eyes shot across the room to Parkinson and then he looked back with a grin, but said nothing.

From above, there was a series of loud screeches and the flapping of wings. Fred's eyes flicked back over to Parkinson. From the top of his vision, he spotted the blue box falling and watched it hit her shoulder and then bounce into her lap. Parkinson looked down at it, as did Montague. The Head Boy leaned over with a sneer and said something close to her ear, then looked up and made direct eye contact with Fred.

A chill shot up his spine, but he never looked away from Montague's cool gaze. In fact, the Head Boy turned away first with an incredulous shake to his head. Fred's eyes darted back to Parkinson, who still just stared at the box. Then she stowed it away in her bag and went on being sullen as if it never happened.

Fred felt a pang of disappointment. She hadn't even bothered to look up. Montague on the other hand…

"Montague didn't look happy, mate," George said, throwing him a dark look. Fred shrugged.

"What's it to me?" he said with a grin. George offered a smile in reply, but again said nothing.

"What're you gonna do with her wand?" Lee asked between bites. Fred took a moment to stuff a forkful of eggs in his mouth before answering.

"She'll come for it eventually," he finally said. "What's she going to do, go to class all day without a wand?"

Apparently, that was precisely what she planned to do. Fred and George caught a glimpse of her while they were on free period, but never paid it much thought. When she didn't show up for Herbology, Fred felt that same pang of disappointment that he'd had when the owls delivered post that morning.

He'd assumed when they saw her walking toward the Forbidden Forest that she was going to Care of Magical Creatures, but maybe that was wrong. Fred wondered where else she could have been going – to the point that not one word of Sprout's lecture was heard to him. He was far too preoccupied with the image of her retreating back and what Montague had spat at her at breakfast.

The disappointment only grew at lunch, when Parkinson didn't show up. Montague seemed irritated, which made Fred wonder if they were having a row. Her absence at dinner had Montague watching the doors like a hawk.

Fred cupped the outside of his canvas bag, feeling the hilt of her wand inside. Well, she needed it back, didn't she? That was what he told himself after he broke away from his friends after dinner, but he knew it was only to quell his curiosity.

Outside, the sun was still resting on the horizon over the lake and he figured he had enough light to do a quick check around the edges of the forest before it grew dark.

They'd spotted her walking alongside the lake. Now that he thought about it, Care of Magical Creatures made no sense. It was in the opposite direction.

Fred had never paid much attention to this bit of forest, but he was clearly walking on a dirt path that wound alongside the lake, passing the dock, and disappearing into the thick brush. It seemed strange that he and Georgie had never discovered the path before, but it likely didn't lead anywhere interesting enough to merit inspection. It was more a pain in the arse than anything – the brush grew wild and he had to stop every few steps to untangle his trouser legs. Despite that, he continued his search.

There was still plenty of light when he found her. Parkinson was perched on a low tree branch, thick enough that it didn't look uncomfortable. Her back rested against the trunk and her legs were hanging to either side of the branch. Parkinson's heavy robes had been thrown to the ground, the sleeves of her white blouse pushed up to her elbows in attempt to deflect the muggy air.

At first it seemed she was staring of in thought, but the closer he came, he realized her eyes were closed. Another few steps and he could hear her chest rising and falling slowly. Honestly, who ditched class to nap in a tree?

"Oi," he said loudly. Parkinson didn't stir, but a few birds in higher branches took flight. Fred rolled his eyes and took another step closer to shake her arm. Hand mid-air, he stopped. It was the purple blotches he saw first, scattered around her wrist and up her forearm. They were small, only about the size of a sickle each.

' _Or the size of a fingertip,'_ he thought darkly.

In the rusty light of the fading sun, he hadn't noticed at first, but splotches of her skin were blood red, rubbed raw and swollen.

Fred wasn't the brightest, but it didn't take a seer to put the pieces together. He'd already suspected Montague of being not-so-nice to Parkinson after the picture in the Daily Prophet, but he didn't think it was anything like _this._

" _Oi,"_ he said louder. Parkinson jerked awake and nearly fell off the opposite side, but Fred had quidditch reflexes and caught her ankle on the fly. Parkinson steadied herself and looked up at him with a befuddled expression, eyes puffy from sleep.

"Every time I see you, you're sleeping," he said, cracking a grin.

Parkinson blinked a few times and looked around, a small tuck in her brow. "You never _let_ me sleep," she said, grog in her voice, but no venom. A waking Parkinson was already proving to be more pleasant than a fully awake one.

"You've slept through every class."

Parkinson shrugged. "I didn't feel like going." And then, as the fuzziness of sleep wore off, she must've realized who she was talking to. Her sharp eyes assessed him, lips drawing tight. "And what are you doing out here?"

Fred's grin grew, though the anger at seeing her arm was still burning in his stomach. He wouldn't embarrass her, though. Fred would pretend he didn't see. "I brought you back your wand."

" _Why?"_

The word was quick and cutting, causing him to falter. That was a good question. Luckily, Fred was good at thinking on his feet. "Because I don't want to be blamed when you flunk all your classes. Of course, you're already headed that direction after today."

Parkinson looked him over carefully and then shook her ankle out of his grip. Fred hadn't realized he was still holding it.

"Here," he said, backing away a few steps to dig through his bag. After a moment, he produced her wand.

"What have you done to it?" she asked. He might have been angry if she'd said it in her usual snotty tone, but only wariness crept into her voice. She was more frightened of him than she let on.

"Nothing," he said, holding the wand out toward her. Parkinson arched an eyebrow in a way he thought only she was capable of. It went high and arched sharp, plastering some smart disbelief on her face.

"And you expect me to believe that?" she said, the pitch of her voice rising in disbelief.

"Why wouldn't you?" he countered, rubbing his free hand through his hair. This was getting irritating.

"Because you're a bully."

At this, Fred's mouth gaped open. _"I'm_ a bully?"

"Yes."

Parkinson didn't offer him a chance to reply, instead striking toward him at unbelievable speed and swiping her wand clean from his hand. For a moment he stared at his empty palm and then looked up to her with a grin.

"Like I said before, you'd make a wicked seeker."

Parkinson cocked her head to the side, eying him. Then she let out a scoff and turned her attention to her wand.

"Right," she said, "So what's wrong with it?"

Fred gave an irritated huff. "Nothing!" he argued.

"And I'm the Minister of Magic," she said in a dry tone. "Let's see here. You have made my life an absolute living hell since the school year started. I'm stuck next to you in Herbology for an entire year and already you've doodled all over me and caused me to ruin half my notes. My back is still aching from being stuck like that last night. It took _ages_ for Graham to find me. And speaking of Graham, you are _really_ causing me some problems for me. So no, I don't exactly believe you when you say nothing is wrong with my wand since you seem so dead set on wrecking my life. I mean, switch the roles. If you were Pansy and I was Fred, you wouldn't exactly trust my word after the past few days."

After all that, her face had grown quite red. Parkinson gave a huff to try and quell the irritation she'd released during her rant. Fred, however, cocked his head to the side with a grin. "I'm George," he said.

"And I'm not an idiot," she retorted.

"No really," he said, grin growing. "I'm George!"

Parkinson clacked her tongue and looked a tad disappointed. "You're Fred," she said. "And you lack any cunning whatsoever."

"What makes you think I'm Fred?" he asked, grin growing.

"You're the annoying one."

At this Fred laughed. "We're _both_ the annoying one. Go on, then, you've got me. How'd you know I was Fred?"

Parkinson stared at him like he was the most stupid person she'd ever seen. "You gave yourself away with the quidditch comment."

Fred thought on that for a moment. She was right. But, still…

"How'd you know it wasn't George on the train?"

Now she sighed, giving one of the most dramatic eye rolls he'd ever seen. "You really aren't bright, are you?"

Curiosity was flooding through him. "Go on, tell me," he said. "Most of our friends can't even tell us apart."

"I can't help it if your friends are unintelligent swine."

Fred only gave her an expectant look in reply, to which she sighed again.

"You mentioned George a few times on the train," she said. "And I had your counter thing, remember? It had your initials on it."

"I'm impressed," he admitted. Parkinson only sighed a third time and gave a dismissive shake to her head.

"Turn around," she ordered. "I'm hopping down and the last thing I need is you getting a glimpse up my skirt."

Fred did as he was told, turning his back to her. He was only turned around for a few seconds when he felt his legs lock together. "Oi!" he cried, trying to balance and failing miserably. At least he fell backward and not on his face.

"You lack cunning _and_ you're far too trustworthy," she said, walking into his sight. Her robes were draped over her arm and she held her wand in one hand with her bag in the other. Fred tried to get out his wand, but she quickly disarmed him and sent it flying into the brush.

"Now you just sit tight," she said with a smirk, digging through her bag. After a moment, she pulled out the Chocolate Frog and dropped it at his feet. Then she walked out of sight. Fred heard the rustling of leaves and he struggled, trying to get back on his feet before she got to his wand. But after just a moment, she returned to his sight, twirling his wand between her fingers before putting it in her bag.

"Oh, almost forgot," she said, flicking her wand. Fred's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. "I might come back for you in a few hours if I feel like it," she said, then turned on her heel and was headed for Hogwarts before he could blink.


	9. Chapter 9

Pansy

Pansy couldn't help but smirk when she awoke a few hours later. Despite napping the entire day, she'd gone straight back to the commons - successfully avoiding Graham - and finished sleeping off the exhaustion she felt from her ordeal the previous night. She stretched out among her sheets and twisted, popping her back. On her side table lay Weasley's wand next to hers. It was difficult to tell in the always-dim lighting of Slytherin house, but she suspected it was well after midnight. What a perfect time for her run, under the cover of night. And she supposed she could stop in on that Weasley git and release him before she landed herself an expulsion. The thought of it brought to mind her mother screeching at her for disgracing the family name, which was enough to push her to her feet and be prompt in grabbing her robes.

Since she'd slept in joggers, she only needed to slide on her trainers and throw her robe over her shoulders before she was ready. Weasley's wand was stuffed into the pocket of her robe and her own stayed firmly in her hand, in case those wretched Gryffindors were out on the Hunt. With dismay, she looked down at the gleaming badge pinned to her chest - a target in the outside dungeons, she was sure. But there was always the chance of Filch not believing that she was a prefect should she run into him, so she left it where it was. All the Gryffindors likely knew she was a prefect anyway.

Pansy stopped to give Lizzie an affectionate rub before making her exit. When her door shut behind her, there were a series of mechanical sounding clicks that signaled the door locking itself. Out in the corridor of the prefects' wing it was so dark she could hardly see a thing, but she put a hand to the wall and felt her way down toward the common area. Once there, the embers of the night's fire were still burning bright enough for her to see the room and she tugged her robe further around her to hide her joggers. She would be horrified for anyone - Slytherin or otherwise - to see her looking like such a slob. Pansy was nearly past the couches when light flooded in from the torch-lit dungeon and the shadow of a person stretched across the floor. She froze, not so much afraid of being seen as in fright of someone having appeared unexpectedly. It was Graham. A knot lodged in her throat.

For a moment she stood still, thinking he may miss her in the low lighting. It was a ridiculous thing to think **,** as she was standing right in the bloody way. "What -," she said, pausing to clear the grog from her throat. "What were you doing out?"

Perhaps he wouldn't have seen her after all. You would have thought she was a Dementor with the way he jumped at the sound of her voice. Pansy was reminded of last Easter holiday, when she and Graham were invited to Malfoy Manor for dinner. On their way up the lawn, a rabid peacock had gone after them and Graham had run off and left Pansy to deal with it herself, but not before making a small screech more akin to a first-year girl. Not his best moment - not in a million years - but it was one of Pansy's personal favorites.

After realizing it was only her, Graham squared his shoulders and tilted his chin upward in some attempt at self-pride. "My rounds," he said, voice tight. "And what are _you_ doing out? And for that matter, where have you _been?"_

Pansy was happy for the dim lighting or else he might have seen her grimace. "Thirsty," she said, shifting on her feet. Merlin, she would just die if anyone knew she was sneaking out to run in the middle of the night. And there was no way in hell she was telling him she also was stopping by to release Weasley.

Graham cocked his head to the side, crossed his arms over his chest, then repeated,"And where were you _today?"_ Despite the darkness of the room hiding her moment of panic, Pansy looked down at her hands.

"I just didn't feel like going to class," she said, then more defiantly added, "I'm allowed to make my own choices, you know."

He had the audacity to scoff, which in turn made Pansy's mouth turn down at the edges. "Go get your drink and get back," he said dismissively, though she could hear the undercurrent of irritation in his tone. "If you get attacked, you're on your own." And with that he brushed by without so much as a glance and went down the prefects' corridor.

Pansy didn't have to be told twice. It would be awful for him to change his mind and come after her, so she shot out into the dungeons before he could see which way she'd gone. Going out for a run was bad enough - running was far too masculine and sportlike. Girls were meant to exist as mere twigs without having to work for it. At least, that's how it was always presented within the higher-bred families. Quidditch was another thing frowned upon for girls - again, too masculine.

At that, Pansy thought of the Weasley git - Fred - and how he said she'd make a good seeker. As she rounded the last bend of the dungeons, no Gryffindor in sight, she scoffed. Naturally someone as low-bred as a Weasley would find it acceptable for a girl to play on the Quidditch team. Completely inappropriate.

At the top stair, which led to the Entrance Hall, Pansy paused to stick her head out into the corridor. It must've been later than she thought – the torches were offering such low light that it was a wonder she could see. Listening for any movement, whether from rowdy students or wheezing caretaker, she inched her way through the hall and pulled forth the heavy creaking door. Once it was shut behind her, Pansy pulled the robe tighter around her shoulders to shield off the chill and took off down the lawns.

The Hogwarts grounds had always been creepy late at night, but Pansy looked up and found there was no moon in sight, only bright stars overhead. The lawn stretched out in front of her, dipping down the slope, and looked an eerie blue in reflection of the sky. The path was no more than worn grass, but she knew it well from years of going to her favorite spot, the tree hidden in the outskirts of the forest.

Pansy came to the fork near the lake and stayed on the left path, heading toward where she left Weasley. She would get the Weasley situation taken care of first, then double-back and follow the right path - which led to the Quidditch Pitch - to get her run in.

The closer she was to the forest, the thicker the foliage around her ankles grew.

Where the trees grew together overhead, all light was extinguished around her. It was a path she knew well, but a pain in the arse nonetheless. And for some odd reason, the hair on the back of her neck stood up. A chilling suspicion stole over her that maybe she was being watched.

That caused a new, nasty thought. What if his friends had already found him? What if they were hiding where she couldn't see?

Pansy stilled and thought it over. Honestly, the chances of them finding him were slim to none. Most people didn't even realize there was a path that snaked around the lake and dipped into the forest.

From her left, somewhere in the distance, something big moved through the trees. Definitely not a human – she heard the distinct and chilling snap of a tree limb.

Fuck, well now she was liable, wasn't she? If his friends hadn't come, he was still out there bloody helpless. Not that she cared about what happened to him, but if he got injured, she'd be the one in trouble.

"Merlin," she cursed under her breath, trying to tread carefully. Whatever that was out there, it was not something she wanted the attention of.

Pansy knew she was drawing close, but was afraid to cast Lumos and make herself a moving target.

"Weasley!" she spat out in a whisper.

Ahead, perhaps 10 more steps, she heard a muffled grunt. She quickly shushed him, aware that the beast in the forest had once again grown still. Pansy took careful step forward, hands outstretched, until her foot nudged what felt like a human. She let her hands rove in front of her until she met a head of hair.

"Please tell me that's you and not some weird fucking creature," she whispered as quietly as possible.

In the distance there were more noises, headed their way. She tensed in anticipation, but whatever it was grew still once more. The mass of hair in her hands moved with another grunt – definitely human.

"Bloody idiot, shut the fuck up," she hissed. Aiming blind in the dark with only the handful of hair to guide her, she flicked her wand to release the tongue from the top of his mouth.

A sigh of relief signaled she'd hit her target. Initially she expected anger out of him for what she'd done, but found herself quite surprised when a warm note of laughter was the first thing to tumble out of his mouth. "Nice one," he said, not making any attempt to be quiet whatsoever.

"Shut it!" she hissed, but the damage was done. Whatever was lurking in the distance let out a terrible roar and came crashing through the trees toward them. Pansy shot Weasley with the spell to unlock his legs and spun, heart hammering. She held her wand out in defense, but it was too dark to see anything.

"Wand!" Weasley said, urgency in his tone as he got to his feet. Pansy shoved her hand into her robe pocket and fisted his wand, pulling it forth and waving it in his general direction until the back of her hand met with his chest. There was a clumsy moment where his hand fiddled over hers trying to grasp the wand, but then they were both armed and waiting.

"I don't understand how you didn't hear the damn thing," Pansy hissed, shooting off a stunning hex blind in the direction of the noises. A terrible whine fled the darkness and the speed of its trot increased.

"Go," Weasley said, all traces of his earlier amusement gone. She felt him brush past her right arm, putting himself between her and the creature crashing forward. He cast out a hex and missed, though there was a sliver of movement seen. Whatever it was, it was huge. "Parkinson, _go,"_ he said.

Naturally her first instinct was to flee, but she would be damned if she did in front of a Gryffindor. She tried to take a step forward, wand raised toward the animal, but her stomach met with his arm, outstretched behind him to keep her in place. She pushed against him, trying to pass him, but his arm hardened, hand pushing against her stomach as he shot off hexes with his other. Pansy didn't even think he realized he was doing it. It seemed to just be a natural reaction.

Well, none of that. Pansy whipped her wand and sent a hex flying, bright and bold, into the line of trees ahead. For a brief moment, there was a flash of gnarled teeth leaping toward them.

That was all Pansy needed to lose what little bit of courage she had. _"Run, you idiot,"_ she screamed, grabbing Weasley by the elbow and giving him a hard yank. Weasley shot off one more hex before turning and trying to keep up with Pansy, who had no problem dislocating his shoulder if he didn't keep up.

Both abandoned the idea of hurting whatever it was and allowed their feet to be propelled by its horrendous snarls growing closer. Pansy felt her chest might explode between her heart pounding and the way she gulped for air. The ground, already uneven and overgrown, was even more difficult to navigate in the pitch black and more than once they almost went toppling over.

The edge of the forest was in sight and they burst out like an explosion, not stopping just because they were in open air. Their feet pounded against the loose rocks that made the footpath. Pansy cast a look back over her shoulder and saw it hadn't followed outside of the forest, but something reflected - yellow eyes - near the line of trees. It was enough to keep her running until they reached the fork in the path, where she slowed to a trot and put her hands on her knees, gulping in air like it was the last she would ever get of it.

Weasley, on the other hand, collapsed like a weed onto the grass, his shoulders heaving with each breath. "Well," he said, gasping for air. "That was dramatic."

Pansy lifted her head and looked in his direction, a half-hysterical laugh snaking up her throat. Weasley gave a huff of a laugh in response, partially breathless, and at that the two of them abruptly broke out into uncontrollable laughter. That is until the beastie must have heard them and let out a hair-raising howl. Both sobered at the noise.

"I thought you were going to rip my arm right out of the socket," he said as he stood, grin still in place.

Pansy straightened herself out, sides aching from laughter and running. She arched a brow, though an amused smile played on her mouth. "I would have if you hadn't have hurried up," she said. "No one could say I didn't try if I showed up at the castle with your arm."

Weasley rolled his eyes at that and the two began their way back up toward the castle with small grins, neither looking at the other.

"I'm not going to lie, I thought you were going to leave me out there all night," he admitted as they drew close to the castle doors.

Again Pansy laughed. "I would have if I hadn't been worried about getting expelled," she said, sliding into the Entrance Hall. The castle, like the grounds, was always so eerie at night. A hush crept over them and Pansy's smile slid from her face. Hogwarts at night was a solemn place.

No later than a few seconds after the door shut with a thud, a force hit her in the back and she was sent sprawling to the floor on her hands and knees. As it had the first night of the Hunt, everything in the room went pitch black and she couldn't see a thing.

"Points for me," Weasley told her, an almost cruel note in his voice. It was a stark contrast to his playful demeanor outside and the abruptness of the change confused her. There was no sense in pulling her wand out, as she wouldn't know which direction to aim. Whatever that black stuff was he threw, it was both maddening and brilliant.

" _Pansy,"_ spat a voice from near the entrance stairs. Graham, no doubt, but she still looked up and peered through the thinning blackness of the air. Yes, him - no one else walked with such ridiculous rigid posture.

Pansy squinted and tried fanning the area in front of her face, but it did nothing to dilute the thick air. The absolute black had faded, leaving a smoke-like haze over everything.

"Here," she called out and Graham's figure adjusted slightly and steered toward her. As he drew closer, she could make out more of his features.

" _Weasley,"_ he called out, looking wildly from side to side. No answer. Unsurprising.

"I'm sure he's long gone," Pansy said, pushing herself up and attempting to find steady footing. The palms of her hands stung and she figured they were probably all scraped up again, just as they had been a few nights prior when Weasley sent her sprawling in the dungeons.

Graham merely hummed in reply. "I was just coming to look for you and I saw him, right there behind you. Prat looked right at me and went on hexing you anyway."

Something weird flitted around in her stomach. She wasn't sure exactly what it was, but she was glad she had her face righted by the time the air completely cleared. Graham looked a fright, his jaw set and ears red.

"It's fine," she said, moving forward and taking his hand. "I'm fine, really. Not a big deal, it probably would have been worse if you hadn't have showed up."

That seemed to sate Graham. But something about it didn't sit right with Pansy. And she wouldn't dare say it aloud, not even to herself, but she suspected things would have been fine if Graham hadn't shown up. In fact, she was sure Weasley had covered for her.


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: Things have been busy, as always, hence the lack of updating. But I pushed myself to get this done today in celebration of Fred and George's birthday! Happy April Fool's, everyone!_

Fred

Parkinson decided to show up to class the following day, but very pointedly ignored him. No matter how many times he tried to catch her attention in Herbology, she focused solely on copying the notes which Sprout scribbled on the mobile board. Finally he opened his mouth to say something to her, but Professor Sprout clapped her hands together and began to speak.

"Right," she said, catching the attention of the class. Everyone had been given ample time to jot down the notes and it was time to move on. "Now that we know the many properties of Shrivelfig, we'll move on to harvesting and replanting. The Shrivelfig will lose its leaves every autumn, but it is an aggressive plant which allows it to survive even in the deepest winters. We're going to help them along by getting them settled into cozy new pots for the autumn -"

It was weird wanting Parkinson to acknowledge him. The defiance in her refusal to look at him was driving Fred absolutely mad. Surely she wasn't cross he'd shoved her the night before? Montague was right there, he'd have raised seven levels of Hell if he'd caught them after hours taking a stroll!

Professor Sprout was splitting everyone into groups of four and directing them to the lab tables in the center of all the plants. "And you four there in the corner," she said, pointing at Fred, George, Lee, and Parkinson. "You'll be at table nine."

Even this did not get a rise out of Parkinson. She simply rolled up her notes, tucked them away in her bag, and took her things to table nine without a word. Bloody hell, what was her deal? They'd had a right laugh the night before, hadn't they? Where was _that_ Parkinson?

Fred, George, and Lee followed Parkinson over to their table. She sat on the very edge of her stool and looked with intense concentration at Professor Sprout.

"Oi, come off it, Parkinson. What's your deal?" he finally said. Lee and George gave each other sideways glances, then looked over to the pair opposite them. Fred did not bother looking at his brother and mate - his eyes were trained right on her.

It seemed being addressed directly and with an audience gave her no choice. Parkinson let out a little sigh, then turn her head to Fred, her eyes skipping over George and Lee.

" _What?"_ she said, testily. "I'm trying to participate in class."

Fred rolled his eyes so hard he feared one might pop out and go scurrying across the floor. For the second time, he opened his mouth to say something and was interrupted by Professor Sprout.

"Here we are," she said, waddling over with a long tray of Shrivelfigs. Their purple leaves sprouted out nearly a foot above the dirt. "So you'll just _nip_ the leaves," she said, making a scissor motion with her fingers. "And put those aside in the bowls Longbottom is passing out. Spinnet is coming around with the new pots and Bell has the dragon dung. You'll want them a good six inches under the topsoil -"

Fred lost track of her prattling on when Alicia arrived at his side with a stack of terracotta pots which she placed in the middle of the table. "Look alive, boys," she said with her usual sly grin, throwing eyes at Fred before sauntering off. Lee whistled quietly.

"She's turnin' up the heat this year," he said, giving Fred a bawdy wink. Everyone knew Alicia had fancied Fred since fifth year.

"Shut it," Fred mumbled, paying very close attention to receiving the dragon dung from Katie. Honestly, it wasn't as if there was anything wrong with Alicia...he just didn't fancy her. And that would be really unfair to her, wouldn't it, if he starting seeing her without liking her the same?

"And how is Lizzie doing?" Professor Sprout asked Parkinson quietly. This seemed to merit a bright smile out of her.

"Oh, quite well, Professor," Parkinson said, positively beaming. "She grew nearly three inches over holiday."

"Splendid, splendid!" Professor Sprout was saying, but Fred lost track of the conversation when Neville came bounding up with a large bronze bowl.

"For your clippings," he wheezed, setting the heavy bowl down with a large thud and then doubling back to grab another for the next table. Once everything was all settled and in place, Fred turned his attention back to Parkinson. She was gently - almost lovingly - extracting one of the Shrivelfigs from the soil.

"Who's Lizzie?" he said in an annoying tone, not bothering to start working. Lee and George hadn't either, but rather sat sleepily and watched Parkinson work. Fred leaned over and balanced his chin on his fist, elbow holding his weight.

Parkinson turned around and made a face at seeing how close he was to her. With a look of disgruntled disgust, she turned back toward the task at hand, leaning away from him slightly.

"My Venomous Tentacula plant," she said evenly, as if Lizzie was not a highly dangerous plant. All three of the boys exchanged wide-eyed looks.

"Your... _what?"_ asked Lee. Parkinson peeked up and eyed him. Fred wasn't sure Lee and Parkinson had ever spoken to before.

"My Venomous Tentacula plant," she repeated, this time slower as if Lee had something wrong with him. "Listen, are you lot going to help or am I going to do all the work for our table?"

Fred shot Georgie a wicked look and they both said, "You're doing the work," at the same time. Parkinson's neck grew a bit red.

"Ridiculous," she muttered under her breath. Lee grinned and let his head thunk down on the table. It was just a few moments before his breathing evened out and he was asleep. His ability to conk out anywhere was borderline astounding.

Fred again rolled his eyes and pulled a few of the planters toward himself, filling them with dragon dung. Parkinson was working on pruning their leaves and tossing them into the bronze bowl. "What's ridiculous is that you have a Venomous Tentacula plant and you never told me," he said, as if that would be the obvious thing to do.

Parkinson continued pruning, not bothering to look away from her work. "I didn't realize it was worth telling," she said, giving them each a sly look from the corner of her eye. "Why would that be of any interest to you?"

George leaned across the table, grabbing a few of the pots himself to disguise the conversation. "Because Fred and I have been in the market all summer looking to buy Venomous Tentacula seeds," he said quietly. "Our last supplier kept trying to charge us twenty galleons a dozen."

Parkinson abruptly stopped what she was doing and turned toward them, her brow scrunched in confusion. "Twenty galleons a dozen? Well, then your supplier is a right thief, aren't they?"

Fred exchanged a grin with George. Their supplier had been Mundungus Fletcher who was very much a right thief.

"Doesn't matter," they both said in unison, then Fred leaned a little closer and spoke alone. "It's difficult getting a regular supplier because most of the supplies are...well -"

"Stolen?" Parkinson said matter-of-factly. She turned and gave him a sharp look, that brow of hers arched.

"We don't know," George said with a grin. "Don't know where any of it came from. Plus, they aren't the easiest seeds to gather."

Parkinson hummed and went back to work, apparently done with the conversation. The twins exchanged looks once more and Fred continued, abandoning the dragon dung completely. "Look, Parkinson," he said quietly. "We'd pay well for it. If you could extract seeds from your plant, I mean. Might make yourself a nice bit of money on the side supplying for us."

Not to mention Mundungus had told them he wouldn't be able to get the seeds anymore due to a business arrangement gone bad somewhere higher up the line. Of the two dozen he'd brought to Grimmauld Place at summer's end, only four remained.

Parkinson was working on the last Shrivelfig, the bright purple leaves held gently between her fingers as she sheared them. "And what -," she said, not looking away from her hands, "- would you be wanting Venomous Tentacula seeds for?"

"Skiving Snackboxes," they said together.

Parkinson put the last of the violet leaves in the bowl and turned to them with a blank expression. "What?" she said.

" _Skiving Snackboxes,"_ they repeated in unison. This time George took the lead. "Never mind what they are," he said. "But we need the seeds for a bit of experimenting. What do you say?"

They were expecting a hard-driven girl like Parkinson to set a high price they would have to talk down.

"I say no," she said, turning back to the work in front of her.

No matter how many times they prodded or bothered her, from them on out she wouldn't acknowledge either of them. It wasn't as if she were angry, but rather just tired of them. It made them both feel rather put out, especially knowing she had access to something they desperately needed.

Parkinson was gone the moment the bell rang, leaving them to clean up the mess. Despite scoffing at her, they both knew it was only fair as she did most of their table's work and gotten them a high group score. Lee mumbled something and his head shut up, eyes wide. "No, not the chickens, Mum. Not chickens!" he said, half still in a dream.

"You tell her, Lee," Fred said with a chuckle. Lee looked around, trying to figure out where he was.

"Shame about Parkinson," George said quietly, gathering his bag and throwing it over his shoulder. Lee was absentmindedly grabbing his things. Fred wasn't sure he even knew what class they were in or where they were going next.

"I'll get her to fold," Fred said with resolution. "Just gotta be persistent."

George fiddled with the strap of his bag for a moment. "Be careful, mate," he said quietly. "You go following Parkinson around, people will be liable to think you fancy her."

Fred shot a look at George, but he was just giving his twin the soft smile he'd always had - the one when he always knew better. The one that drove Fred nuts.


	11. Chapter 11

Pansy

 

All she knew was that it was far too early for this rubbish. 

It was so early that the sun hadn’t even considered rising for the day yet. If it weren’t for sodding Blaise, she’d be perfectly content to push off her run for another day and curl right back into bed. As it was, however, she’d confided in Blaise - probably her best mate, aside from Draco - that she’d been slacking in the exercise department. An avid runner himself, this ended up being quite the mistake as he was now waiting for her in the common room and wouldn’t take no for an answer the evening before. 

“Morning,” she grumbled, pulling her jumper around her shoulders. She wasn’t sure whether Blaise was aware of her fear that Graham would find out they’d been alone, but he’d not said a word when she folded under the condition they run in the early hours. She didn’t like being seen a sweaty, anyway. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Blaise said with a grin, revealing his perfectly straight, bright smile. There’d been a time in third year when she fancied him, but managed to keep her feelings under lock and key. Probably would have been better off chasing him than ever getting involved with Graham. 

Pansy only grunted in return, which earned a rich laugh from her friend. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up in fear that maybe Graham was nearby doing early rounds and would hear them. “Let’s go,” she grumbled, tucking her arms around herself. Even in the darkness of the common rooms - and dungeons once they were on their way - she felt self-conscious without her makeup done. Blaise was one of the few people she didn’t mind being naked-faced in front of. 

Hogwarts was always eerie and still through the night. Pansy recalled a few weeks prior, when she slipped out under cover of night to release Weasley. How they’d laughed, out of breath, at nearly being mauled. 

“What’re you grinnin’ at?” Blaise asked, nudging her shoulder with his own. Pansy immediately dropped the smile she didn’t even realize she’d let grow across her face.

“Nothing, you git,” she muttered, sliding out through the large door in the entrance hall. The coolness of the mid-October air bit at her cheeks. Blaise followed close behind and a soft thud sounded across the grounds at the large door closing after them.

Blaise only hummed in return, a short noise signaling he knew better. She told herself it was the chill that caused the heat to rise to her face.

“Let’s do this, then,” she said with abruptness, pointedly not looking at him. Why in Merlin’s beard she was blushing, she had no idea. It felt dirty being caught smiling over that ginger idiot. 

“Race down to the Pitch?” he asked with a grin. She nodded in return and he was off like lightning. Not that she expected to beat him, but Pansy did shoot forward after him. Her short legs did little to help and he beat her by a large margin. Once she made it to the Pitch, she was doubled over, gasping for air. Blaise seemed unfazed - not even winded in the slightest.

“You  _ are  _ out of practice,” he said with a laugh. “Go on, then. We’ll do ten laps this morning -”

_ “Ten?!”  _ Pansy interrupted. “Ten laps around the Pitch? You’ll kill me!”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, amusement obvious. “Ten,” he said. “You’re the one who wants to be in shape. You can’t even run downhill without sounding like you’ve been smoking for years. Ten laps, no complaining.”

If there was anything she knew about her friend, it was that he hated excuses. Despite that, she still made a whining noise and took off at a slow pace. Blaise easily passed her up and, even though she was sure he’d have something smart to say about her slow jog, let her be. Maybe he was pleased enough that she’d even bothered to get out of bed. It probably pleased him more to have a chance to boss her around. Between Pansy and Draco, Blaise never got to be the one bossing others around.

“How you holding up?” he asked as he passed her on his eighth lap and Pansy’s sixth. The only answer he received was heavy breathing and an angry scowl. Blaise passed her with ease, not even winded, and continued on his way. He wasn’t too far ahead when the sound of jaunty voices trailed down their way.

“Johnson’s trying to kill us,” one was saying. “Ridiculous, having practice this early,” said another. “Oi!” said the loudest, a female, “Enough! Slytherin is first match of the year, I’m not losing to them on my first game as captain!”

Merlin’s fucking pants, it was the sodding Gryffindor team. A quick noise of annoyance grunted out of her before she could stop it - even her secret time alone was being tainted by the Weasley twins. Blaise trailed to a stop and looked back at her. The small tuck in his brow would have looked like annoyance to anyone else, but Pansy knew her friend well enough to see concern. They were both thinking the same thing -  _ the Hunt. _

Surely they wouldn’t try anything in front of their captain. But...what if Johnson played, too? Pansy quickly recalled the Gryffindor roster, recalling Potter, of course, but also Alicia Spinnet. Head Girl. Pansy’s nerves calmed in just the slightest. She slowed, but continued a quick walk to close the gap between herself and Blaise, who had placed himself between her and the Gryffindor team.

“It’s fine,” she muttered as the team grew quiet, noticing them. “Spinnet is Head Girl. She won’t risk losing her badge.”

“Oi!” Johnson called. The distance between them seemed to shrink with the sound of her voice. Blaise still positioned his shoulder slightly in front of her. “Gryffindor booked the Pitch a month ago!” The tone was one of blame and suspicion - Blaise raised his hands.

“Didn’t know,” he said, making a slight movement with his head and beckoning Pansy to follow behind him as he stepped forward. “We were just doing our morning laps, we’ll go.”

The sun was beginning to rise over the grounds and it reflected off the bright hair of the Weasley twins and their younger brother, who Pansy didn’t know had made the quidditch team this year. She couldn’t help her eyes lingering on the twins before looking over to Blaise. He eyed the team warily, but none of the Gryffindor players made a peep. They all just stared at the two of them like they were slugs.

“Let’s go,” Pansy whispered, nudging Blaise. He nodded and the two took off walking, though they had to pass Gryffindor to avoid going clear around the Pitch and risk looking like they were afraid.

Gods, she really didn’t want to pass the twins. They’d practically stalked her for the past few weeks over Lizzie’s seeds - it was all growing quite tiresome. The team stood their ground as they passed. Pansy knew she ought to keep her eyes on the ground, but she couldn’t help looking up at the twins as she passed. A quick assessment of their faces - George on the left, Fred on the right - made her angry at herself for now being able to tell them apart by looking at them. Or rather, their mannerisms.

Both of them looked rather shocked as she and Blaise drew close and passed. She realized they’d never seen her in jogging clothes, red-faced and sans makeup. It was just a bunch of Gryffindor idiots, right? What did they matter?

But it did bother her. Quite a bit. As she and Blaise finished their walk up to the castle in silence, Pansy kept running her hand through her hair - a nervous habit brought on by the realization that she cared quite a bit what the Weasley twins thought of her.


End file.
